Destined to Die
by Lulubird
Summary: A series of Cato/Clove/Clato one shots that will continue as long as the bloodthirsty pair continue to whisper in my ear. Please review.
1. Blue Eyed Monster

**A/N: As requested by mousegoesrawr...jealous Cato! (There might be nother version of a jealous Cato coming too) -Lu**

"He wants an alliance," said Clove solemnly, not looking at Cato. He frowned and pulled himself from his thoughts, scanning the room for who she could mean. His eyes fell on the giant from Eleven and he cocked his head to the side, considering.

"Well, Eleven certainly has strength. It would be unusual but-"

"No!" Clove snapped at him contemptuously. "Twelve. He wants an alliance."

Cato's eyes snapped automatically to where Peeta was studying a table of leaves. His face turned up in a smirk. "Why would he even bother seeking an alliance with us?" he said, practically laughing. He turned to Clove who was giving him a scornful look, her arms crossed.

"He wants an alliance because he wants to live his pathetic little life as long as possible." She tossed her head showing her annoyance and glanced across at Peeta. "He approached me at lunch."

Surprise and anger coursed through Cato simultaneously and his smirk changed to a vicious glare which he shot in Peeta's direction. "And why would _he_ approach _you_?" he said in a dangerously quiet voice.

Clove rolled her eyes and gave him a tight, disdainful smile before turning and walking away without giving him an answer. He stared after her, confused at the anger that was beating in his pulse. His fist was smashing into the practice dummy before he even thought about it and he glared at the terrified tributes standing behind it. They scattered under his furious gaze and he turned back to his weapon, breathing heavily. His eyes fell on Peeta who was still by the nature table, but he was gazing across the room. Cato followed his gaze to where Clove and the annoying Girl from Twelve stood in line at the spear throwing. He looked back at Peeta, taking in his dreamy expression, and suddenly Cato's fist was slamming into the mannequin again, only this time he was very deliberately picturing the Boy from Twelve's face at the heart of his punches.

...

"I said NO!" Cato shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. All the cutlery on the long dining table jumped and their terrified escort let out a squeak. Clove didn't move in her seat but was glaring at him with open hostility. "We will not make an alliance with him!" Cato shouted again.

"We make alliance with the strongest tributes Cato," Clove said calmly, buttering a piece of bread. "And Peeta-"

"Oh so we know his name now?" spat Cato furiously. She lifted coolly contemptuous eyes to him, her butterknife hovering over the bread.

"As I was _saying_, Peeta is one of the strongest this year, literally," she continued, unnervingly calm.

Cato glared at her, furious that he couldn't make her see the idiocy of accepting a boy from Twelve- _that boy_- into the Career alliance. At that minute if he'd been in the room he probably would have ripped his jugular out with his bare hands. It made no sense that Clove was pressing so hard for the alliance, and hell would freeze over before he asked her. He could just imagine the amused, scornful look she would give him if he let his confusion show through. Cato turned in exasperation to Enobaria, who had been watching them with a serious, thoughtful expression.

"Tell her!" he exploded, pointing an accusing finger at Clove.

Enobaria stared at Cato for a few silent long moments, her finger tapping her chin. "No. I think Clove is right," she said eventually. "He would make a useful addition. The girl is your biggest threat and he can help you get her early."

Cato stared at her speechlessly. Throwing his hands up in exasperation he stood up violently, his chair crashing to the ground and evoking another squeak from the escort.  
>"Yeah well don't expect me to save you when he turns against us," Cato spat viciously at Clove before storming away, leaving her with the sound of the slamming door to ponder.<p>

...

Cato used the jacket of a dead tribute to wipe the blood from his sword. When he could see the jagged edges of the Cornucopia in its metallic surface he looked up, scanning the scattered bodies and bloody remains around him. A few of them still moaned, but it wouldn't be for long.

Quickly he began stalking towards the weapon supplies, where he could see Glimmer furiously delving through a box. She pulled out a quiver of arrows and held it up triumphantly, meeting his eyes with a manic grin. There was blood spattered across her flawless, bronzed skin. She jumped to her feet as he marched up beside her, and slung a bow across her back.

"Ready?" she said breathlessly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. He looked at her studiously, his eyes roaming over her bouncing golden curls and her emerald eyes. She really was quite pretty, not his type- all that showiness and glamour -but pretty nonetheless.

"Let's go," he said tersely, turning away. His eyes fell on several figures roaming through the bloodied bodies. Marvel was stabbing one with a spear, drawing it out again with a satisfied smile. Cato's eyes though were on Clove, who was crouched over another. She plucked something small and glinting from the hand of the dead tribute; a knife. She already had dozens in her vest and tied to her arms and legs. As he watched she stood up and passed the knife to the figure behind her. Cato's eyes narrowed and he hissed involuntarily as he saw Peeta accept the blade from her, looking at it hesitantly for a second before slipping it into his jacket.

All three of them began to walk towards him. Cato felt Glimmer's hair tickle his arm as she bounced up next to him, too close. Impulsively Cato turned to her and leaned in close, so close he could smell the blood drying on her clothes.

"You got blood in your pretty blonde curls," he said in a low voice. Her eyes flicked up to his and she smiled in what he suspected she thought a seductive manner. She giggled breathlessly and he forced a smile back. He could feel the eyes' of the others on them and it only urged him on. "Here," he said gently, reaching out a hand and bushing one of her curls over her shoulder, pretending to wipe non-existent blood from her hair. She held his gaze and leant in closer. They stayed that way for a long moment, just long enough that he could be sure he had her, and that the others had seen. Suddenly, he pulled away and looked up. The others were standing in a tense circle around them, joined by the girl from District 4.

"Let's go hunting," he said grimly, sliding his sword with a clang into the scabbard. Marvel grinned and marched off, the others following him gradually. Cato adjusted the sword in his belt and looked up, meeting Clove's eyes. She stared at him, her arms crossed defensively, and an amused smirk on her lips. He felt strangely exposed under her look.

"What?" he growled at her. She raised her eyebrows indifferently and uncrossed her arms.

"Nothing," she said simply, turning and following the others. He growled low in his throat with uncontrolled annoyance and stomped after her.

...

He was woken by screams and a thrashing body next to him. Cato's eyes flew open and his vision was instantly blurred by hundreds of buzzing black bodies which were swarming around him. With a shout he sprang to his feet, only pausing to grab his sword, before he took off through the trees. He felt a searing pain in his arm as he crashed out of the clearing, and his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it almost drowned out Glimmer's screams behind him. He didn't give her a second thought as he belted through the trees. In front of him he could see Clove's small figure darting through the trees, her dark ponytail whipping furiously from side to side. He had no idea what had happened but another burning pain jabbed at his lower back and he yelped, only just managing to avoid a tree.

As he raced through the forest, following Clove's distant figure, his mind began to piece together the sounds and sensations of the last few minutes and he realised they had been attacked by tracker jackers. That explained the pain screaming through his limbs at that moment. He blocked it out as years of merciless training had taught him to and concentrated on his legs pounding the ground beneath him.

At last they broke through the last line of trees near the lake and without stopping he crashed into the water. Clove was already ducking her head below the surface and he felt the cold rush of water around him as he joined her. As he disappeared below the surface he could see the swarm of angry insects hot on their tail. Below, only silence pressed in on his eardrums. He opened his eyes and looked through the gloomy water. He could see Clove's pale face shining at him through the rippling shadows. She was looking at him, the occasional bubble escaping her lips. They stared at each other, propelling their arms to keep them underwater, until his lungs felt like they were going to burst and he pushed himself towards the surface. He broke through, gasping for air, and heard Clove splash up next to him, coughing and spluttering. He couldn't hear or see the insect anywhere now so he paddled tiredly towards the shore and hauled himself out of the water, flopping down on the sun warmed ground. Clove collapsed next to him with a sigh.

"Twelve," she muttered furiously, eyes on the tree line.

Cato hauled himself into a sitting position and followed her gaze. "I'll enjoy killing her," he growled, feeling the stinging in his arm and back.

"No. Peeta. He went back for her," Clove hissed. Cato turned to look at her, his anger hesitating.

"What...your little boyfriend betrayed you?" he said, unable to keep the open venom from his voice. She turned seething eyes on him.

"What about you...awful quick to abandon your blonde bimbo weren't you?"

The accusation made him halt. He didn't think she had noticed his attempts at liking Glimmer, and her attempts at seducing him. But she was glaring at him with such anger that something flickered in him. She had noticed and she had cared. And he wasn't quite sure why but that made him feel happy.

"I'm surprised you had time to notice anyone else," he said carefully, keeping his voice even. "I would have thought you'd be too busy with your little friend from Twelve."

Clove rolled her eyes and sighed with utter exasperation. "Cato!" she said in frustration. "It was an _alliance_! Stop being jealous!"

An angry retort died on his tongue as he processed her words. "I'm not jealous!" he exploded, affronted. She looked at him like she thought him stupid and sighed again.

"Can you please just go and kill him?" she said, pointing towards the woods. "He's getting away."

He followed where she pointed and paused only a moment before leaping to his feet, the pain from his stings and the weight of his soaking clothes suddenly nothing in his furious brain. As he stood poised, his sword already in his hand, he glanced back down at Clove. "I wasn't jealous," he clarified, though his voice lacked its previous conviction.

"Okay Cato," she said with a small, amused smile as he took off into the trees.


	2. Night Time

TWO: NIGHT TIME

Because no one really escapes the Hunger Games

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><p>'Where was their fearsome warrior princess now?' Cato thought to himself as he made the familiar dash into her room. The moonlight fell in slanted beams across the living area as he hurried across the cold floor, his feet bare on the chilling tiles. He hadn't made this journey for over a week and he had been beginning to think they both might finally get some peace.<p>

Of course that was a fantasy.

There was no such thing as peace after what they had seen and what they had done. They may have survived the Games, they may have exited that arena as the first co-victors but there would never be peace.

Oh, the Capitol and the District saw them exactly how they wanted to. Their smug smiles never faltered, their cold gaze never wavered. They were the perfect picture of the vicious and ruthless couple who had blazed a bloody path to victory. They were tributes, Careers , murderers, victors- in that order.

They had been presented as the Formidable Tyrant and Fearsome Warrior Princess of District 2.

Perhaps it was because they pushed it all away that the memories and the terrors came to them so viciously at night. _You can't hide from us_, they teased. _You can ignore us and banish us during the day but at night we come out to play_.

Cato didn't really sleep any more. He didn't get nightmares like Clove but his insomnia was just as bad. Night after night he stared out the vacant windows of their apartment, praying for the pink tinge of dawn to give him some release. There was safety in the day. Safety in doing things and talking and smiling and working so hard to not let any of it show. But there was something about the stillness and silence of the night that let his mind break free and throw horrific vision after vision at him.

The eyes were the worst. The first time he had seen a pair of sad, dark eyes blinking back at him in the reflection of the glass he had spun around, breathing ragged, body instinctively tensed for attack.

It had taken five nights before he stopped doing that. Now when he saw their sad eyes reflected in the glass he stared them down. Not out of defiance but out of punishment. He deserved the pain it caused him to gaze at the mournful eyes of those he had stripped of their lives.

'Why did you deserve to live?' they always said to him.

He wished he could give them an answer.

He reached the bedroom door and pushed through it without hesitation, driven as usual by her muffled cries. Just as he entered she let out a scream that set his teeth on edge and he threw himself to the side of the bed.

"Shhh," was his instinctive response. He knew it was useless but he was always at a loss for anything else to say. There wasn't anything he could say to make the memories stop terrorising her.

As he climbed onto the bed and gripped her tight in his arms he wondered what exactly she was seeing tonight. Perhaps it was the bloodbath where they had struck and slashed like automatons, unable to comprehend what they were doing till later, when the reality of murder sunk in. Perhaps it was those beasts, blood dripping from their slobbering jaws as they bore down upon them. The most frequent one was the feast. He hadn't been there, to his eternal shame, and she refused to tell him what had happened when he had arrived. All he had been met with was the sight of 12 and 11, dead and bloodied on the ground and Clove staring numbly at a large rock next to her. Even though he didn't know what had happened he knew she dreamt of this one the most, and it was the worst.

As soon as her panicked eyes flew open, searching desperately for his face, he knew that she had been dreaming of that tonight.

Now that she was awake she didn't say anything and she didn't cry. The panic in her eyes was quickly masked by a familiar coldness. Even in the solitude and silence of their own apartment neither of them could afford to let their guard down. Cato knew that if, even for one second, he allowed his torments to break through, that everything would come crashing down and he wouldn't be able to claw his way back to his cold and detached facade.

Still, he stayed where he was and she didn't remove herself from his arms. He didn't ask what she had been dreaming about and she didn't ask why he was awake so late.

Under his hands he felt her heartbeat slowly return to its normal pace and her breathing became calm again. With a sigh he dropped his head onto the pillow. Like always he would stay here the rest of the night. She would be able to sleep again, feeling the thud of his heartbeat against her ear, and he would be able to lie awake and think of her, instead of the haunting eyes of their victims.

In the morning they would silently get ready for whatever circus the day was throwing at them. They wouldn't talk about the night time and they wouldn't talk about the fear. Looking at them no one would know they felt anything at all.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it. Please Review. :)<strong>


	3. Does it Scare You?

**A/N: So this was uploaded as its own but I decided to merge it into the one shots. So no, you're not going crazy if you're reading it twice.**

THREE: DOES IT SCARE YOU?

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><p>Everyone tries to find my humanity. If they dare they look into my eyes and try to see the slightest tinge of remorse. After a kill I see them watching me with analysing eyes. They're waiting like vultures for the moment of weakness that proves that somewhere under my armour I have a beating heart. If I did show it the moment they saw they would pounce on me and declare me weak, unfit to compete. All the same, I think they wish it was there.<p>

Perhaps they find it too hard to believe that I have no remorse. I know my mother does. Right until reaping day she believed I was still a good person. She had to believe that the training centre and the Capitol had made me this way. I think it was the only way she could bear to look at me if she believed that her precious little daughter had been taken away from her and forged into a murderous automaton.

But she was wrong.

I liked it. There was nothing sweeter to me than the smell of fresh blood as it poured from opened veins. I craved that moment where I could look into their eyes and see that they knew death was near. It was exhilarating to hold that power over others. Can you understand the sheer thrill of holding a knife in your hand and knowing that at any second, on your complete whim, you could end the life of anyone around you? You barely have to move. They wouldn't see it coming. They probably wouldn't even know they were as good as dead until the coppery taste of their own blood began to choke in their throats and the world around them faded.

The trainers may have placed the blades in my hands but they didn't make me into this.

I don't want redemption. I don't want forgiveness. I regret nothing I've ever done with a blade in my hand.

Everyone tries to look for an explanation for my cruelty. People assume that some cruel twist of fate turned me into a monster- neglect, abuse, fear, pride, manipulation. I've heard them all and none of them are right. But people just can't accept that. Some might even think I'm not human. How could I be? How could a person with warm blood coursing through their veins and a heart beating in their chest look upon the dying moment of a child with the sadistic satisfaction that I do?-

I think it scares them too much to consider that there can be such cruelty without reason within their own kind. I scare them.

Good.

There's no point looking for my humanity. It's not there.

Perhaps I'm just a bad person.

Does it scare you?


	4. Glory of Scarlet, Beauty of Crimson

**A/N: Thank-you to everyone and their lovely reviews so far.**

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><p>FOUR: GLORY OF SCARLET, BEAUTY OF CRIMSON<p>

What difference does it make? Dead is dead.

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><p>The forest was quiet tonight. There were hardly any of them left. They were the last two Careers.<p>

They had a little fire lit, no one was going to attack them, and they desperately wanted the small warmth it gave. They were both beginning to get tired, though they would never show it. Cato had a deep gouge up his left leg which he had wrapped with a piece of cloth. It wasn't serious but enough to cause him some discomfort and annoyance at how it slowed him down a fraction.

Clove had insisted he wrap it up. He had brushed her off with slight annoyance, not wanting to show weakness but she had pushed him to the ground with surprising strength and tied the cloth tight around the wound, ignoring his grimace of pain.

He watched her now as they prepared some meagre food. She moved around the little fire with care, barely making any noise on the soft leaves of the clearing.

As she looked up at him he moved his eyes quickly to the flames, slightly embarrassed to be caught staring. So he was startled when a heavy object landed on the ground beside him. His sword.

"You might want to clean that," she said coldly. It was if, the entire games, they were no more than two people from the same district. Even more than that. It was as if to compensate for the weakness she had shown in front of him on their last night she was being extra cold and distant towards him. He wanted to tell her it wasn't a weakness, that she didn't have to hide it, not from him. He knew she was scared. They were all scared. Even if you've trained for it, even if you have dreamt about it for years, death it still a terrifying thing.

He had been watching with mixed apprehension and gratitude as tribute after tribute flashed across the sky above them. Every death meant they were one step closer to having to turn their blades on each other. And he still didn't know what he was going to do. It would probably destroy him to go home, continue to live, knowing he had taken her life. But the instinct of survival was a very strong one.

"I remember the first time I saw someone downed by a sword," he said, trying to distract himself from his dark thoughts by picking up the blade and rubbing it absently with some cloth.

"It was at training, before you came I think. This prick of a guy, Veron, always showing off and bragging. One day some of the others had just had enough and they downed him with his own sword. Only in the leg mind you but still. It was wonderful. Who knew...so much blood." He looked up at her, realising she had stopped moving and was watching him intently. In the flickering shadows of the firelight her eyes looked dark and sunken. She looked like a corpse already.

"There's something so exhilarating about it isn't there?" she said breathlessly, moving towards him. He watched her with narrowed eyes as she took a seat next to him. The fire crackled merrily in the background and somewhere nearby a small animal snuffled in the brush. Even with the intensity of the way she was looking at him his senses were still alert to every little noise and movement around him. Almost without him realising it his mind catalogued everything around him, dividing them into peaceful, prey and threat.

She was watching him with wide, bloodthirsty eyes.

Her question drew his mind to the glory of scarlet, the beauty of crimson as it freely flowed. Without realising it his hand tightened slightly on the handle of his sword, as if his body was itching to drive it into something.

Clove's hand went instinctively to the blade she kept pressed against her heart as her eyes watched his movements keenly. Noticing her reaction he released his grip and smiled grimly at her. She laughed her cold, careless laugh and threw her hands up in the air.

They really were destined to drown in blood.

Their light-hearted moment was interrupted by a canon boom from overhead. The image of the girl from district 5 flashed up into the sky.

"I wonder how she died," Cato mused out loud.

"Does it matter?" Clove asked in a hopeless tone.

She was right. In the end, dead was dead.


	5. Into the Lion's Den

**A/N: Just one point on this one shot: this is not Clato. It's Cato and Clove. There's more to the world than love after all. Hope you like it. Please R & R.  
><strong>

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><p>FIVE: INTO THE LION'S DEN<p>

The moment where everything Clato has ever known begins to crumble around him.

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><p><em>The moments of other's deaths are what I live for.<em>

_I was born to kill._

_It's who I am._

_A killer._

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><p>As he crashed through the stalks of corn, taller than his head, he didn't care what marks they left on him. He could feel the sticky warmth of blood on his skin and he didn't know whether it was his own or another's. The ground was uneven beneath his feet but his rage carried him over the stumbles and holes and he barely faltered as he battered his way towards his next victim.<p>

This one was different though. This one had purpose. Oh, he had thought that every kill he had made until now had had purpose. He had thought there was a point to it all. Not just the killing but the training, the pain, the torture, the effort, the sacrifice. He had thought there was a point to his life.

He had been wrong.

He had been nothing more than a tool in their hands and it had taken him this long to realise. It had taken him one massive mistake to realise that he was powerless. He had all the use of the sword he now held in his hand. Without the hand wielding him he was worthless. His life meant nothing, just like the lives of all those who had already died meant nothing. Nothing more than entertainment.

He was the great, the brutal, the bloody, the terrifying Cato, Career tribute from District 2 and he had been going to win the Hunger Games.

He was still all those things, perhaps even more so by the murderous fury that was coursing through his veins. He was still ruthless, still cruel and vicious. But he had had something taken away from him and the hole it left behind was more dangerous than any of it. For the briefest of moments he had had hope. Hope that there was a way out of this. Hope that, for the first time in his life, he could let someone become more than merely an ally, more than a stepping stone on his path to victory.

They could have gone home together.

Clove.

Clove and Cato. The Victors from District 2. It had sounded so temptingly alluring in his head.

Then it had all gone wrong and his words hadn't been enough to keep her there and she had died in his arms. For the first time in his life he had wanted something that he could not get by spilling blood. But now he wanted something else. He wanted revenge. And that he could definitely get by spilling blood. And he would.

But it wasn't just Thresh's blood he wanted anymore. He wanted to hear the agonized screams and desperate pleading of all those who had led him by the hand into this arena.

He knew they would all be watching. The Capitol in their sickening excitement, the District in their grim satisfaction, his parents in their twisted pride.

Like a stupid _stupid_ child he had believed them when they placed that blade in his hand and told him he was going to win. He had held his head high when they talked of pride and honour and glory.

Clove had believed the same thing. And now she was dead. Where was her honour? Where was her glory?

It was all a lie. A lie for parents to trick their children into walking into the lion's den.

He had believed their lies and now he wanted revenge.

As his blade connected with Thresh he let out a monstrous cry of anger. He didn't even notice the slices to his own skin he received in the fight. His betrayal and loss had filled him with a sense of indestructibility that no amount of adrenalin had ever achieved. It was simply that he no longer cared.

There was no point to any of it anymore.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he stood over Thresh's defeated body, blood and sweat dripping from his torso and fury still burning bright in his eyes.

He turned and walked away back towards the Cornucopia, sword swinging by his side, his eyes fixed determinedly ahead.

He was going to end this.

A darkness had fallen by the time he sprinted into the clearing and clambered his way on top of the Cornucopia, heedless of the pain in his limbs. He heard them coming long before he was them sprint madly from the trees and he crouched on the cold metal and watched them come to him.

He hit all the right blows. He followed all the right techniques and patterns and he won. He had Peeta captured by the neck and he didn't give a damn that Katniss' bow was trained on his head.

"Go on. Do it," he hissed, choking on the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

He watched the quivering silver tip of the arrow and willed it to release.

"I'm dead anyway. I always was, right?" The truth of the words made him grimace a smile of pure regret. Regret that it had taken him to this very moment, with the arrow pointing at his heart, to realise that his life meant nothing. All their lives meant nothing. Marvel, Glimmer, Peeta, Katniss...Clove. They were all united by the fact that their beating hearts, so young and so unloved, meant nothing to the cruelty of the world.

"I just didn't know that till now." He couldn't quite believe the laughter that was escaping his lips. It sounded twisted and manic in his ears.

He leaned back precariously, throwing his head back to look at the anonymous blackened sky above them.

"Is that what you want! Is it!

There was that infuriating reply of silence. A silence that let him know just how powerless he was. That he could rage and cry and die beneath their eyes and they would just turn coldly away.

He tightened his grip and placed his hands to the familiar points of death. "I can still do this." He didn't know whether he was convincing Katniss or himself or everyone else. "I-Can-Still-Do-This. One more kill. Bring pride to my district," the last words stung with utter contempt. He hated them all now.

He didn't feel the slice of the arrow or Peeta's blows or the sharp edge of the Cornucopia as he tumbled over its sides. He didn't feel the rabid teeth ripping into him. He screamed. But it wasn't from pain. He screamed all the anger of his powerlessness. He screamed all his love for Clove. He screamed all his betrayal. But most of all he screamed from pure and utter hatred of the horrible, cruel, uncaring world that had let them all be led like naive, innocent lambs to the slaughter.


	6. A Good Show

**A/N: See, I promised I'd keep going didn't I? :) Hope you enjoy this one, please review if you like it, and a happy easter to all those who celebrate it -Lu**

She fell with bone-breaking force onto the unforgiving ground and her desperate sprint through the trees was brought to an abrupt halt. For a split second she contemplated pushing herself to her feet and running on, but then she heard the crack of a twig behind her which signalled the arrival of her pursuer. There was no point in running anymore.

Covered in dirt, blood and tears she turned around and, from her position on the forest floor, looked up at her killer. She wanted to see death when it came, she always had.

Death smiled at her.

"Ready to play now?" Clove's voice was cold and mocking and it sent a shiver down the girl's spine. Her last stand of resistance, she refused to entertain her killer's sick idea of conversation and she kept her mouth firmly closed. This only seemed to infuriated Clove more and she came flying at her and, in second, she could feel her hot breath on her face as she pinned her to the ground, the smallest of silver blades held tight to her throat. It was silly to notice the size of the blade that was going to bring her death. Would it really make much difference if it was Cato's great sword? She thought perhaps that would have been more painful, but looking into the manic glint in Clove's eyes she knew that pain was inevitable with these two. And she had seen Clove do terrifying things with those little knives.

It was a stupid person who underestimated the power of something small. It was a dead person.

She gasped as she felt the blade edge press a little deeper into her skin. It wasn't cutting yet but one more millimetre and her blood would spill. She closed her eyes, praying to a God she no longer believed in that her death would be quick.

Clove could read her mind. "Want me to kill you quickly, do you?" she asked in that same mocking tone. Instinctively the girl's eyes flew open. Clove laughed but withdrew the blade from its precarious position over her throat.

The quickest flash of hope burst in her mind but as soon as she felt a screaming pain on one of her arms she cursed herself for allowing it in. There was not going to be any peace. It was going to be long and it was going to be painful. She couldn't see the cut Clove had made but she felt the hot tingle of her blood as it ran down her arm. A matching pain erupted on her other arm, a mirror image of its brother. Clove was a perfectionist. All artists were.

"Please," the word had escaped her lips before she could stop it but she instantly wanted to take it back. It appeared dignity was not going to stay with her in her final moments. She should have known better than to hope for a brave death. Looking into the mad eyes of her killer, as Clove laughed at her show of weakness, she knew she wasn't strong enough to not plead for her life. Survival was the strongest of instincts and her brain hadn't seemed yet to tell that instinct that it was futile.

"What was that little lamb? You don't want to die?"

She shook her head, feeling more leaves and dirt sticking to her hair from the forest floor. An irrepressible sob caught in her throat. She knew Clove would be taking great delight from her fear but she couldn't stop it now.

"Please," she whimpered again. Clove's reply was a sharp jab to her shoulder. There was a slight delay between the action and the excruciating pain reaching her. As if her bones and flesh were butter Clove yanked the knife back out again, causing another wave of agony.

"Look at me," Clove ordered and reluctantly she focused her eyes on the mad girl above her. Clove leaned back slightly and she thought, for the briefest of seconds, she saw a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. But then it was gone and she convinced herself her suffering mind had created the illusion.

She felt the cool tip of the blade placed against her cheek and closed her eyes again. So she sensed rather than saw Clove lean down to whisper in her ear.

"I'm sorry. But I promised I'd give the audience a good show."


	7. Freedom

**A/N: Although still Cato and Clove this one shot is really for all the Careers. Hope you like it.**

There is freedom in this arena. In this little bubble of pain and suffering they are, ironically, for the first time in their lives free. Free from the control and pain and pressure of home. So they run, and they laugh, and they play because what else is there to do with the last days of your life? What else is there to do but enjoy the sweet taste of everything that has ever been denied you?

"_Keep going! Don't stop! There, you could have gone for the kill!"_

_The bloodthirsty shouts of the trainers ring in his ears as he circles his opponent. Raoul is about the same size at Cato but he knows he is impulsive, arrogant, careless. They have been living and training together now for 5 years so Cato knows it will be his friend's downfall. _

_They are fighting to the death. It's a rite of passage at the training centre. At 12 the class is paired off for one on one combat. You are placed opposite someone you have known since you were six and a blade is placed in your hand. _

_A kill is required. _

_It is to weed out the weaker ones. Half the class is killed, but it doesn't matter, they are left with only the strongest and fittest to choose their tributes from. _

_Cato and Raoul have been fighting for 45 minutes now. Their limbs are heavy with exhaustion and their clothes soaked with sweat. The trainers are getting agitated, sensing that neither is quite willing to make the kill. He has seen it happen before. Two friends forced to fight to death and simply refusing...neither survives to reaping day in those cases._

_Raoul darts towards him suddenly with surprising agility. But Cato has lightning reflexes behind his muscle and he is out of the way of the blade and diving in to slice at Raoul's torso before anyone even seems to know what has happened. He half expects Raoul to leap out of the way, just as he has the previous 20 or so times they had danced this exact routine today. But perhaps fatigue has finally gotten the better of him and Cato's blade slides easily between his ribs. A look of surprise is frozen on his face. Cato's aim is impeccable and Raoul falls, dead before he hits the floor. _

_It is his first ever kill. The trainers and older students crowd around him, slapping him on the back and congratulating his amazing talent. Cato looks at the blood glistening on his sword. He knows he is supposed to feel elation at his first kill. At any kill. But it doesn't feel as good as he thought it would. _

In the arena they play the only way they know how. Through hunting and killing. They have had experience of nothing else since they were young children. They can't remember what it felt like to take joy in anything else. Perhaps some small part of their brain remains untainted by the years of control and manipulation the training centre has inflicted upon them. Perhaps a small part still recognises the other tributes as human. But the exhilaration of darting through the forest, dodging in and out of the trees and laughing at the hunt is stronger.

_If they just let them do what they were good at it would be fine. But they're forced to practice with everything. They know Clove can throw knives. Everyone knows. So they tell her she doesn't need to practice that today, that she has to go to the combat area and pick up a sword. She looks at them like they're stupid. They know she can barely lift them. She's strong but even the bigger girls her age have trouble with them, and she's tiny. She fails miserably at fighting, and every time she throws in a trick that isn't sword training they lose it. She can't see what the harm is in darting in under her opponent's arm and giving them a sharp jab to the ribs with her elbow. She can't swordfight, and if this was real, then her opponent would still be groaning on the ground from where she hit them, just as they are now. But they don't see it like that so they scream at her for disobedience and she's set a punishment. _

_She's there, hours after everyone else has left. Her muscles are screaming from the resistance course they have made her do but her pride- and her trainer screaming at her from across the room- won't let her stop. She only has three more circuits. _

_She's been there so long that the bruises are beginning to blossom from her failure at combat training. It annoys her that not only is there the pain to remind her, but now a visible mark of where each humiliating blow landed to remind everyone else how weak she was. _

_Her limbs betray her on the second last circuit- halfway across the rings- and she feels her fingers slipping from the cold metal and then the 5 foot drop to the ground. The thin matt does little to soften the blow from the hard concrete floor and furiously she feels every point where yet another bruise will appear by morning. Gritting her teeth against every aching bone and muscle she tries to ignore the insults hurled across the room at her from the trainer and climbs to her feet. _Pathetic, useless, weak. _She glares at the bars instead of the trainer and she determinedly climbs back to the top. _

Their young limbs shout with delight as their strong hearts pump blood around their bodies. Their cheeks are flushed and they are laughing as they chase each other over the rocks and in and out of the woods. The cold water of the river sends invigorating shards of ice up their spines. They feel _alive_. So they run, and they laugh, and they play because what else is there to do with the last days of your life? What else is there to do but enjoy the sweet taste of everything that has ever been denied you?


	8. Responsibility

He watched them fall, one by one, with cold, uncaring eyes. There is no other way to be within this arena. Survival requires cruelty, cruelty requires indifference, and indifference requires numbness. So you do your best to pretend like they aren't humans before you, bleeding to death from wounds you have inflicted. You laugh at their pain because the alternative is to feel your mind explode with the horror of the situation you're in. The powerlessness. Your imminent death.

But some of it always escapes through your strongest defences. For Cato, it was in their faces right before they died. He couldn't help but see them as human, as children, in that moment. He couldn't help but see the same fear in their wide, tear-filled eyes that he had seen in my sisters' and brother's eyes when they looked up at him expectantly, waiting for me to provide the magic solution to all their problems. Two little girls and a boy whose bones lay exposed beneath their thin skin, their eyes dark with a hunger that had lasted all the winters of their short lives.

Volunteering ensured them enough food. It was easy to endure the excruciating training and punishing regimes of the training centres when he went home and saw them chasing each other around the house. They had the energy to play, finally. He would have volunteered one hundred times without a seconds thought, knowing that it provided extra food for them.

There was no one else to help them, he was the oldest, it was his responsibility.

But he couldn't afford to think like that for long. He couldn't afford to think of the other tributes as someone's brother, or sister, or child. If he died in this infernal arena then 10 years of soul-breaking work would have been for nothing and they would starve to death, waiting for him return just as he had promised. So it had to be a game. It had to be something that didn't matter. Not lives, not blood, not people. They were playthings. It wasn't that far of a stretch really. In the eyes of the Capitol they were all playthings. So all he had to do was put himself in their heads, imagine that this was all a great game with a sparkling prize at the end of it.

He didn't know about the others; Clove, Marvel, Glimmer. They appeared just like him. Cold, uncaring, merciless, vicious. For all he knew they were driven by the same things he was. Then again, perhaps they were just psychopaths. That was the thing with these games. It wasn't just the physical that got you out alive, it was the mental. They really were games indeed. Mind games. It was all about pretence and manipulation and control.

He didn't give up hope until the very end. He still believed he could do it, survive, even with Katniss' arrow pointed at his head and with blood streaming from multiple wounds all over his body. He didn't know how he managed to fight until he had Peeta, choking in his grip. He had thought moments ago that surely he had no strength left but it appeared his instincts had one last kick.

He couldn't even explain why he wanted that last kill. He knew that even if he made it Katniss would take him down in a heartbeat. Up till now, killing had only been about eliminating them one by one, so he was that step closer to freedom. But he was dead now. Whether he made that final kill or not, he was dead.

But then, he had been dead all along. He had confused wanting to do well with actually having a chance. He had believed that because he wanted, no _needed_, to return home so badly that that alone would merit his survival with the Gods. He had believed that the universe would care if three children starved to death. He had been mistaken.

And for all he knew, a dozen other tributes who had already died had just as much riding on their survival. He knew Clove had siblings and he knew her training had provided most of what her family survived on. He didn't know why his mattered more than the others. He couldn't answer that. All he knew was that without him they were as good as dead too.

He was defeated in more ways than one when he toppled over the side of the Cornucopia. It wasn't just his pain felt as the ferocious mutts tore into his flesh and it wasn't just his life that was over the second Katniss' arrow pierced his skull.


	9. Invincible

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the reads and reviews. You're all fantastic. I guess this is the first openly Clato fic I've written, which is odd really. I realised most of them up until now sort of leave you free to read either romance or friendship into their relationship. So here is one that is as close to Clato smut as I'm probably ever going to get. I know you all like the star-crossed lovers but I can never seem to escape the psychos inside them. So here's a compromise. Hope you enjoy. :) -Lu**

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><p>Their breath fogged around them in the still, pre-dawn air as it escaped their mouths in nervous giggles of anticipation.<p>

Everything was completely motionless. Not a single insect buzzed through the air of the quarry. There wasn't a single bird in the sky. It was as if everything hung in suspended animation, waiting for the show to begin. The only signs that life even existed were the two youth hidden amongst the rocks, as still as the rest, the only thing visible in the shadows their gleaming eyes.

"Ready?" breathed Cato, a single exhalation of suspense.

"Ready," Clove replied.

On cue the glowing sky and motionless quarry were suddenly ripped apart by a series of violent explosions. The two sprang from their hiding position as boulders exploded behind them, shards of deadly stone flying through the air around them. They laughed, a frightening, manic laugh, as they darted over the slabs of rock, dodging great boulders that came crashing down to meet their path.

Cato whooped as he felt the blood pumping through his veins with exhilaration. Even the slices of stone pelting into his skin made him feel alive.

Another explosion rocked the ground ahead of them. A plume of white dust and debris burst into the air not 10 yards from them and they threw themselves aside as chunks of rock rained down.

A string of explosions followed their flight and Clove shouted with excitement as the very ground rippled under their feet, throwing them into great tumbling walls of rock. Their adrenalin filled cried were lost in the deafening noise as the earth was ripped and torn around them, thrown into the air with the force of a bomb. There was a great smashing and thundering as huge boulders fell back to the ground, smashing against each other and enveloping the entire scene in white dust.

They could barely see the ground in front of them as they sprinted, ducking aside as new explosions rocked the air beside them, and they scrambled over mountains of rock that gave way beneath their feet to disappear into pits of nothing. They ran blindly through the minefield.

They both shrieked as a towering wall of rock in front of them suddenly rippled and almost in slow motion began to crumble forwards. Instinctively they threw their hands over their head though the pieces of rock falling towards them were four times their size. With a shout Cato grabbed Clove's hand and yanked her roughly to the right. Soon they were both tearing along the base of the cliff as it shattered and fell to the ground behind them.

Barely escaping the last of the rock as it came crashing down they sprinted for a sloping slab, slipping in their scramble to reach the top. As soon as they felt dirt, not rock, beneath their feet they collapsed to the ground, their breathing ragged and broken by their frenzied laughter. Beneath them the last explosion rocked the ground on which they lay sprawled and Clove giggled manically as she felt the earth shake under her limbs.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun and as their breathing steadied no more boulders crashed to the ground and an eerie white dust settled over everything.

"You look like a ghost!" Cato laughed as he rolled over, his eyes gleaming with adrenalin and a broad grin on his face.

"Maybe I am," Clove replied with satisfaction, shaking her hair and sending a cloud of stone powder into the air around them. With an overexcited giggle she rolled over, giving him a hard shove. He retaliated and leapt at her laughing. They fought, rolling over each other until they were inches from the edge of a great drop down into the quarry below. Oblivious to the danger beside them Cato pinned her underneath his weight, a smile of victory on his face. Only the sound of their ragged breathing broke the silence for a few moments as they grinned at each other. Suddenly he pounced on her, crashing his lips into hers in a passionate kiss.

"You seem pretty alive to me," he muttered slyly when he pulled away, noting how she leant after him instinctively.

She reached up a hand to cup his face and searched his eyes hungrily. "Nothing can hurt us Cato. We're invincible," she breathed the last words, her voice shaking with excitement.

He leant down to kiss her again. "Invincible," he agreed in a whisper against her lips.


	10. Never Ever Have I

****A/N: Hehe I'm kind of proud of this one. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Anyway, on with the show. Please review! :)****

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><p><strong>Never ever have I<strong>

They sat in a rough, spread out circle in a small clearing ringed by trees, as if encircling a campfire in the dark but there is nothing but bare earth between them. Clove leans against the rough trunk of a tree, glaring across the space to where Glimmer giggles, Cato's arm looped loosely around her shoulder. The artificial moonlight bathes them all in an eerie blue-white glow.

"Don't you two ever shut up?" Marvel takes the words out of Clove's mouth as he calls in a harsh whisper from near on her left. Glimmer's giggle dies on her lips and she turns furious eyes on her district partner.

Cato lets out an indifferent chuckle and unhooks his arm, though he doesn't move away. His eyes slide away from Marvel to where Clove sits, and just in time she drops her gaze, focusing intently on the knife she holds in her hands, wiping the perfectly polished blade with the sleeve of her jacket.

He's not the only one who doesn't care.

"Why don't we play a game?" Glimmer suggests in a breathless, excited giggle.

"What do you think we've been doing?" Clove replies in an icy tone, not lifting her eyes from the blade. "This isn't a summer camping trip."

She senses the vicious look thrown at her and smiles inwardly.

"What did you have in mind?" Cato asks, attempting to diffuse the obvious tension.

"Never ever have I," declares Glimmer happily, clearly thinking she has Cato well on her side. She ignores Marvel's groan from across the clearing. "I'll go first-"

"We don't have anything to play with," Cato points out, cutting her off.

"We could play with limbs," Clove suggests in a sarcastic tone, holding her knife up with a wicked grin. Glimmer and Cato ignore her unhelpful suggestion but she receives a quick flash of amused smirk from Marvel.

"Why don't we use those berries we collected this afternoon," Cato suggests and Glimmer squeals happily, clapping her manicured hands together. Clove doesn't even bother pointing out that they should ration their food, not play stupid childish games with it. She might as well save her breath.

So she resignedly moves further into the clearing as they all gather around Cato's jacket, which he spreads on the ground, placing the small pile of gleaming red currents in the middle.

"Never ever have I broken the law," Glimmer starts in a hushed whisper, nuzzling her way back under Cato's arm. Clove rolls her eyes. As if any of them were going to admit to breaking the law, here, in the middle of the games with the eyes of the Capitol on their every move.

They look at each other expectantly but nobody speaks or moves. Glimmer huffs in annoyance at the lack of response which inspires a satisfied grin from Clove.

"I've got one," Marvel speaks suddenly, clearly drawn into the game now. "Never ever have I broken a bone." He puffs his chest out proudly and crosses his arms, clearly showing off his muscles. "No one can get near me."

Cato grins and reaches forwards, picking up a berry and popping it into his mouth. "Broken rib. Thanks to that one over there," he says, nodding his head in Clove's direction. She can't help but smirk as all their heads swivel in her direction, Glimmer's eyes narrow grumpily. She remembers the day she caught him off guard and successfully tackled him to the ground, the satisfying crack of his ribs underneath her pressure. "Pretty sure you should be taking one too, Clover," he teases. Her sly smile vanishes as he uses her childhood nickname and it is replaced by a venomous glare, which he brushes aside with an amused chuckle. "Didn't I break one of your wrists as payback?"

"Technically the ground broke it," she shoots back, though she darts forward and grabs a berry. The tart flavour bursts in her mouth as she bites into its juicy skin.

"Never ever have I been drunk." Cato takes his turn with a reserved smile on his lips. There is a sharp cry and Glimmer turns to him with exaggerated shock, her pretty emerald eyes wide with amazement.

"You've never been drunk!" she gasps.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "It would mess with my training routine."

Marvel scoffs and picks up a berry. Teasingly he tosses several in Glimmer's direction. "Here. You'll probably need a few." Laughing, she pops the berries into her mouth and throws Cato a sly, sideways look through her lashes.

Cato's eyes though are on Clove, his eye brows raised with expectation.

"Fine," she spits, leaning in and grabbing a berry. There is a ripple of laughter from them all and to her fury she feels her face colouring slightly as she sits back in the circle her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

She sits there and fumes silently as they continue to talk, reaching forward to take the occasional berry but mostly just throwing silent curses at Cato.

Her thoughts are interrupted as something thumps into her and she looks up startled to see them all looking at her, waiting. She picks up the empty water canister and hurls it back across the circle at Cato, who grins and catches it easily in one hand. "I _said_," he repeats slowly. "It's your turn."

She scowls at him, though really she is buying herself time to come up with something. Her mind is suddenly blank.

"Never ever have I..." she starts slowly, running her eyes over them for inspiration. Her gaze falls on Cato and suddenly the words slip out accidently, "...been kissed." As soon as she's said them she wants to disappear on the spot from embarrassment. Marvel openly laughs, a boisterous booming sound, and Glimmer isn't much better, tittering away behind her hand. Clove feels herself colouring again and ducks her head in anger, glaring at the ground. They'd stop laughing if she launched one of her knives into their chests she thinks to herself furiously, her fingers tightening instinctively on the blade she always keeps ready.

"Well we can fix that one." Her head flicks up at the words in time to see Cato crossing the circle and before she can utter an angry protest his hands are framing her face and his lips are pressed firmly against hers. She completely freezes as he kisses her with surprising tenderness but there is a leap of delight inside her.

When he pulls away, grinning mischievously at her, she can hear Marvel whooping and laughing in the background. Cato releases her face from his gentle grip and casually strides back across the circle, plonking himself on the ground next to Glimmer. Clove feels another thrill of elation at Glimmer's furious expression. She crosses her arms sulkily and pouts like a child.

"Right. Never ever have I..." Cato begins, looping his arm back around Glimmer which appeases her anger slightly. He continues as if nothing happened and Clove tunes out to the chatter which starts up again, staring at the ground intently. Her mind reruns the kiss; the feel of his lips on hers, the glint in his eyes when he smiled at her.

As Marvel and Glimmer dissolve into a bickering argument about something Cato's eyes flick to Clove, who is still studying the ground intently, and a fleeting, satisfied smile crosses his face.


	11. Not Dead Yet

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. There's this annoying thing called life that just always seems to get in my way. Anyway, here is a two part one shot (I know, doesn't make sense, just go with it). It may be a bit quiet for a while. Law exams are looming. But I'm almost finished another story, Cato based, so keep your eyes peeled folks. Thanks for reading (and hopefully, reviewing). -Lu**

CATO POV

He heard the canon boom across the arena but he didn't let the turmoil inside show on his face. Despite the fury and pain ripping through him he could not forget the cameras trained on their every move and he couldn't abandon the character he had so meticulously presented to the world; brutal, bloody Cato. But surely even brutal, bloody Cato could get away with a momentary tender farewell to his district partner? So no tears fell as he leaned down to brush his lips over her cold ones. It may even be somewhat endearing to all the eager crowds.

All thoughts of the selfish, cold-hearted Capitol watching on their screens flew from his mind though as he felt the unmistakable flutter of her breath against his skin. He pulled back suddenly, staring intently at her face. Had he imagined it? She appeared the picture of death; still, pale, peaceful. Even the blood had stopped flowing from the wound hidden in her hair. He almost feared an answer to the flicker of hope that had sprung up. Carefully he touched his fingertips to her throat, just above the hollow of her collarbone and waited. His heart leapt as he felt a slow but determined movement under his touch. _She was still alive_.

He looked around them wildly. The clearing was empty. Had the game makers made a mistake? Unlikely. Or had that canon been for someone else?

He didn't wait any longer to question it though. Dropping his sword to the ground he freed his hands to scoop Clove up into his arms. He turned his back on the Cornucopia and moved swiftly towards the trees, his senses alert to any human movement around him. He couldn't believe that he, Cato, was voluntarily walking away from his sword in the middle of the Hunger Games. But he didn't hesitate. The plan had changed. The goal was still survival but the means would be different. Instead of hunting down the other's, eliminating the competition tribute by tribute, they were going to adopt a plan of waiting. He knew his mentor and trainers would be disappointed that he had chosen this plan, but after all, adaption and survival were the main two rules of the training centres back home. He was going to adapt. And they were both going to survive.

For the briefest and most horrible of moments he had had to face the idea of being in the arena alone. He hated to admit, even to himself, how utterly terrified that had made him.

He moved back to a camp they had abandoned a few days ago, when there had still been four of them. With the rapid tumble of his thoughts it was the best place he could think of for bunkering down and awaiting the deaths of the other tributes. It was a dark looking crevice in a great wall of rock that once inside opened out into a space just big enough for a few people. It was perfect because it looked like nothing more than a menacing dark crack in the rock and the sheer wall of rock stretching upwards meant no one could stumble on them from above. It was such a good hiding place that he was half-surprised to find it deserted. Everyone left in the arena, as far as he knew, had survived this far due to their impeccable hiding skills. Odd really, wasn't it? Everyone made such a fuss about the Careers; their strength, their viciousness, their bloodlust. But it seemed survival came down to who could hide, run and steal the best. Nothing had disturbed the fallen leaves of the forest floor here for several days.

Gently he lay Clove on the ground against one rocky wall and used his emptied backpack as a pillow for her. Next he ripped off his jacket and placed it over her, hoping it would create some warmth.

He waited, sitting on the cold ground and staring at the patterns of moss on the rocks in front of him. The solitude pressed in on him; the morning stretched into afternoon, filled only with the sounds of occasional birdsong and the rustling of the trees overhead. It was eerie how normal everything seemed. It was hard to imagine that they were in the middle of a fight to the death.

As the temperature dropped a few degrees and the angle of the sun shifted behind the high rock wall, throwing them into relative shadow, he realised he had to do something about water. Both their canisters were empty. As he went to gather them he realised he no longer had a weapon. His eyes flicked to Clove and soundlessly he slid one of the blades from her jacket. He wasn't the best with these things but it was better than nothing.

He scrutinized her for a few silent moments and then fearfully he hovered his fingers over her pulse again. Still there. He got quickly to his feet and picked up the empty canisters. As an afterthought he scratched a simple symbol into the rock wall opposite her, in case she woke up while he was gone. Ō. He didn't know where it had come from but it was a symbol that could be found all over district 2, if you knew where to look. It meant shelter was near and someone who would be willing to offer a little food or a drink of water to the starving. Cato had been forced to scour the district for that symbol many times as a child.

He moved swiftly and silently through the trees. His stealth had surprised many of his trainers, considering his size. Perhaps it had something to do with having to steal to survive. He certainly wasn't a natural at survival in the woods but he was sure he had enough skill to keep them both alive for a few days at least. A small stream was easy to find. He followed the ledge that sheltered them and soon enough found a glistening slab of rock and in a crack a trickle of crystal water tumbling to the forest floor. He filled both their canisters and splashed his face in the icy water.

It was as he was bending to pick up the now heavy flasks that a canon reverberated across the silent forest. His head snapped up, every muscle suddenly tensed. His frozen moment only lasted a second though and soon he was crashing through the trees, oblivious to the discomfort of the canisters as they banged against his leg. He didn't need to do the calculations in his head to know that the chances the canon hadn't been for Clove were slim.

He hoped that no one would have the guts to pursue him because he took little care as he thundered his way back to the camp. He skidded on the slippery leaves of the ground as he threw himself into their hiding spot and he was so panicked it took him a few seconds to register the black eyes scowling back at him.


	12. Not Dead Yet Part 2

CLOVE POV

It took Clove quite a while to realise she wasn't dead. When the persistent pounding in her head seeped through the fog she almost wished she was. Almost. There was nothing quite like almost dying to make you appreciate life.

Muttering curses at the pain in her head she shoved off the jacket lying over her and sat up, looking around with a frown, part from the annoying ache in her skull and part from confusion. The symbol scratched crudely into the rock was the first thing to catch her eye and she couldn't help but smile at its familiarity. So Cato was here. She looked around properly. Or had been, because she was completely alone now. No sword, no water, nothing to indicate he was still here. Except his jacket which she now realised she had been lying under.

Realising how thirsty she was she used a jagged edge in the rock to haul herself to her feet, but as the world lurched alarmingly she decided perhaps the ground wasn't so bad after all.

Groaning with frustration she pulled her knees up under her chin, resting her head on them gratefully. Patience was not one of her natural traits. It was then that the sound of the canon boomed across the trees. A nearby bird fluttered up into the air, startled by the noise. Clove waited, holding her breath, to see if anything else would follow. She didn't know how much time had passed so she had no idea how many tributes were left. Could it have been Cato's? Or was he already dead? The thought made her shiver, though she told herself it was because of the dusk dampness seeping into her clothes.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she heard something crashing through the forest, getting closer. Instinctively her fingers flew to her favourite knife. She swore when she found the slip empty.

"The bastard took my best one!" She curled her fingers around the handle of another and waited, ready to hurl the blade into an unsuspecting tribute in seconds if need be. It was lucky that something about the thundering footsteps jogged her memory or Cato could have had a very nasty welcome. As it was, when he skidded around the rocks into view all he received was a furious glare. She told herself it was because he had made so much noise. It had nothing to do with the fact that her heart was pounding in her chest, terrified it would be him, even more terrified it wouldn't be.

"Clove!" he gasped.

"Well done genius," she scowled at him to hide the smile that wanted to appear.

He stepped further into the space and dropped the full canisters on the ground next to her with a thud. Without waiting for an invite she grabbed one and took a long drink of the ice cold water. She lowered the canister to see him watching her.

"The canon...I thought..." he said, his eyes studying her face.

"Nope. Not dead yet," she said simply. She took another drink to stop herself from telling him she had feared the exact same thing when the canon boomed across the sky. "So who's left?"

With a sigh he took a seat on the ground. "Dunno. I've been holed up in here all day. Two canons gone so that makes," he did a quick calculation. "Two others left. And us."

"I hope it was Eleven," she said coldly. He looked at her through the growing gloom of dusk. Suddenly he got to his feet and crouched in front of her. She watched him warily but his eyes weren't on hers.

"What kind of idiot gets hit with a rock?" he muttered scathingly as he reached out to look at her head. Clove made an indignant noise. A sharp reply on her tongue turned into an angry yelp of pain as his fingertips found the wound.

"Watch it!"

He pulled his hand back grinning.

"Like you can talk," she spat at him.

"Huh?"

"What the hell did you do?" she asked. When he stared at her blankly she frowned and jabbed one finger into his arm. He winced and looked down at his arms, as if he genuinely hadn't noticed the scratches and gashes covering them. He lifted them up and twisted to look at the back, inspecting the damage disinterestedly.

"Must have been the trees," he muttered to himself. "When I was run-" He stopped and looked up at Clove, meeting her inquisitive gaze with a stony one. "Anyway. Let's get some sleep."

He jumped to his feet again and walked over to the other side of the clearing.

"I'll take first watch," he stated. He bent to pick his jacket up off the ground and held it out to her.

"No. I don't need it."

"Take it," he said gruffly, shaking it in her direction.

"No."

"It's the jacket, or me."

She glared at him.

"Fine," he muttered, stomping back across the space towards her. He took a seat on the cold ground next to her and she let him spread the jacket out till it attempted to cover both of them.

"I think I would have preferred the jacket," she muttered grumpily, huddling in next to him. He grinned with amusement, unseen in the darkness.

CATO POV

An unnatural wind picked up after a few hours of silent darkness. It howled through the trees and the night was filled with the snapping and creaking of their limbs. He was glad they had such a sheltered location because even there the chill of the storm made him shiver. He smiled grimly to himself as he thought of Fire Girl and her preference for tree hide-outs.

"Hope she freezes to death," he muttered to himself. "Or falls out."

It was no doubt some trick of the game makers, hoping to send off a few other tributes already close to death from dehydration, starvation or hypothermia. It was getting to the point in the game where the slightest thing could mean life or death. At the thought he pulled the jacket tighter around them, making sure Clove was covered.

The wind was so strong that he almost couldn't hear the Capitol music when it started across the arena. He glanced eagerly up to their chink of sky to see the faces of the recently fallen tributes.

"Eleven...twelve," he breathed to himself. He felt a leap of elation as Lover Boy's image flashed up, but nothing compared to the sadistic pleasure he felt seeing Eleven's image. He was only sorry he hadn't been the one to rip him to shreds. That would have been a phenomenal kill.

'So,' he mused to himself as the trees whipped above his head. 'Fire Girl and Five left. That should be manageable.' He was surprised Five had survived this far to be honest. He had barely seen the flash of red hair the entire games. And a part of him was glad Fire Girl was left. He may have changed their plan and left his sword behind but he couldn't deny the bloodthirsty part of him that still wanted to draw out her death excruciatingly.

The storm died in the trees just as the first hint of light began to appear in the sky. No canon had fired that night.

For hours now Cato had been staring at the symbol he had scratched into the rock. If he focused intently on it everything around it became blurry and he could almost believe that he was back in District 2, hiding in the quarries during a training exercise. A movement at his shoulder brought his focus back to the present and he reminded himself that he was a long way from home, no more so because of the girl asleep next to him. These games did strange things to people.

"You didn't wake me," a disgruntled voice said next to him. He turned his head slightly to see her frowning at the ground and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"I wasn't tired," he answered curtly.

Clove gave a short laugh and unravelled herself from the jacket they had been using as a blanket. "That's not how it works and you know it."

He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth as she scolded him for letting her sleep. Could she be any more ungrateful? He generally let her rant, having learnt some ago that it was just easier to do that. It was a good thing he internalised his aggression, until it exploded that was, because if they both had a tongue as sharp as Clove they would have killed each other within a few moments.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, ignoring his irritable expression and fists clenched with anger.

"We wait."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes that just about drowned him in contempt.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked viciously, his tempter rising.

In answer she reached over to him and plucked her knife from where he had slid it into his jacket. "We hunt her down."

He should have known she was still lusting after the violent death of Fire Girl. She had barely stopped hissing about it since their training scores had been released.

"No." His voice was cold with command.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed at him.

In response he gave her a shove away from him, his temper snapping. He watched with cold eyes as she winced and closed her eyes. "What's wrong with _you_?" he spat, climbing to his feet and marching over to their supplies. He crouched at his bag and began rummaging through the contents. When he realised he didn't even know what he was looking for stopped and glared at the contents, trying to cool his anger.

He turned back to her with what could well have been the first apology of his life almost on his lips. His mouth opened but the words died as a canon shot rippled through the forest around them. It wasn't night time but in the sky above them the Capitol symbol appeared followed by the pale, flickering image of the girl from District 5.

Any thoughts of apology or argument had fled from his mind as he realised that they were one step closer. And it was only Fire Girl, District 12, who stood in their way. His heart thudded with exhilaration that paid no heed to the decisions of his brain. He lowered his eyes from the sky and his gaze connected exactly with Clove's. She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him mischievously.

"Come one Cato," she urged. "Let's go and play."


	13. One Moment

**A/N: A BIG thank-you to all my beautiful reviewers. **

**So here is one I've wanted to write for a while. Clove and Cato are the last two in the arena and the Game Makers revoke their dual winner rule. Who will win? Hope you enjoy and please review! :) -Lu**

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><p>She watched him prowl closer. He was taking his sweet time about it because in his mind this was the finest kill of his life and he wanted to savour it. She could see it burning in his eyes, the hunger he felt for this kill, the desire that was burning him up inside.<p>

He ran the tip of his tongue over dry lips and swallowed.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way." The words were flat and meaningless when paired with the eager glint in his eyes. "Truly." He looked down at the gleaming sword balanced perfectly in his hand. "I'm sorry you have to die."

She stayed motionless on the ground, watching him come closer. She knew he thought she had conceded to her fate, to die by his sword. God, perhaps in his twisted hell he thought she even craved that death. Perhaps he believed he was delivering her, because why else would he step towards her now with such confidence. He knew what she was capable of, he knew she had a hunger to match his own, and yet he showed no fear as he bore down upon her. Perhaps it was because of the knives which he had torn from her. The last one knocked from her hand seconds before it dove into the flesh of his gut. Perhaps it was because without them she really was powerless and perhaps he thought little Clove was terrified, with great, brutal Cato towering over her and all her precious blades far from arms reach. She watched the sword rise inch by inch with calm anticipation. She wasn't afraid.

He paused at the crucial moment. The sword hung in the air, its lethal point hovering over her heart. She could see by the expression on his face that he was trying desperately to burn everything about that moment to his memory. He wanted to use this second, this moment of complete and utter power to keep him going for the rest of his days.

Their eyes connected and she saw there the satisfaction that his victim knew her killer. But she knew it would have been all the sweeter for him if he saw even a flicker of fear.

It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. Their eyes stayed locked but every nerve in her body was screaming information at her. The ground, the leaves and twigs and stones pressing into her skin, were sharp as blades. The breeze that brushed about them both set her skin tingling. The kaleidoscope of azure sky and emerald leaves of the canopy above them were too bright. A bird called far away but its piercing cry cut through her mind. Every single muscle was tensed to the extreme. They ached with anticipation of the next move.

It came as quick as lightning. But she was quicker. She knew before he did the exact moment the sword was going to begin its descent and she was already rolling herself away, one hand plunging into her jacket for that last, precious little hidden gem of steel. The smallest of all the blades but as it bit its way into the tight skin of his throat it proved itself the deadliest.

The surrender of his skin to the steel of her blade was matched by a fiery sensation in her right shoulder as his sword finally descended to its destination. But she was out from underneath him and springing to her feet before his crimson blood had time to gush from his wound onto her and mingle with her own. The screaming pain and dripping blood of her arm may as well have belonged to someone else for all the bothered her as she watched his sword fall from his grasp. It clattered to the ground, pinging against the rocks. He clasped a hand to his throat but it was useless. Crimson flowed out freely between his fingers. It took seven seconds before his legs gave way and he tumbled to the ground. It took another three of watching him splutter her name before she stepped closer. This time it was her turn to prowl down upon the victim, but she didn't take the same satisfaction from it he would have. She had a hunger to match his, but hers was for survival above all else.

She knelt down beside his twitching body and looked calmly into his eyes. They were wide and panicked and glistening with fright. He didn't want to die.

"I'm sorry Cato." At least she meant it. She took little joy in the dying gasps rattling from his blood soaked lips. It took another 10 seconds before they stopped. She watched, she stayed with him for every last laboured rise and fall of his chest, till it rose one last time and stayed still. She looked calmly at his face, already ashen with death, his eyes wide, staring straight at her but completely unseeing.

Overhead a canon boomed and the sweet knowledge of survival and victory flooded her mind. She gazed at him one last time and smiled sadly.

"I am sorry Cato...but you shouldn't have underestimated me."


	14. Enemy of my Enemy

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. To Minna26: thanks for picking up on those POV changes. I'll get onto fixing those asap. And I may just make Not Dead Yet into a multishot. We'll see. Thanks for your comments everyone. **

"I can't believe it!" A glass tumbler was hurled from Cato's hand and smashed into smithereens against the far wall. The shards of crystal had barely hit the ground before a plate had joined it in its destruction. Clove watched apparently calmly and with amusement from the sofa as Cato destroyed half the contents of the table.

"Why don't you smash a window?" she asked with a teasing smile.

He rounded on her, his eyes burning with fury and his fists clenching in and out. "Aren't you angry!" he bellowed at her, made all the more enraged by the calm way she observed him.

"Oh yes, furious." Her voice was quiet and even. "But I choose to take my fury out on the deserving party..." she flicked her eyes to the pile of rubble at the base of the wall and then back to Cato. "...not on helpless crockery."

He let out another bellow of anger and picked up a vase from a useless little table beside the sofa and threw it at the wall. Clove sighed and rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and waited till he was done. Finding no more objects at hand to throw Cato resigned himself to the sofa with a guttural growl. The whole seat shook as he violently threw himself into the space next to her.

"So you have some genius plan do you?" he said in a nasty voice, finally speaking below a yell and looking at her properly for the first time. He was still wearing his training uniform, he had just returned from the gym and his blonde hair stuck to his head with perspiration. Clove in contrast looked cool and collected with her hair in a neat ponytail.

They had been left alone since the announcement of the training scores. No doubt Brutus was off somewhere drinking away his despair at his 'failure' of a tribute and it was probably better not to know where Enobaria was. They were the only two in the district 2 apartment that night. In any other circumstances that could have been extremely dangerous, given that even in the presence of others it had at times been all their mentors could do to stop them from throttling each other. But they were both preoccupied with matters more pressing than their mutual hatred that night.

Besides, Cato sometimes wondered how much his heart was actually in the hate. It almost felt more like custom now, than actual emotion. Sometimes he wondered if he only continued to hate Clove because that was just what they did. After all, they had only both been nominated because their trainers were sick of them fighting and were glad to be rid of at least one of them.

"Yes. I'm going to kill her." Clove's simple statement brought Cato back from his thoughts.

He openly scoffed, hoping to make her angry, but if it did she didn't show it. She simply lifted an even gaze to look at him. He was the first one to look away.

"Not if I kill her first." He crossed his arms over his chest, making sure his muscles bulged impressively. Clove might have a sharp tongue but she should always know who was boss between them. "Or kill you first," he added as an afterthought.

"Try and use at least one neuron wouldn't you Cato?" she said in an exasperated voice and rolling her eyes again.

He let out a low growl in his throat to express his displeasure but he didn't move. He sensed that somewhere in her nastiness she was getting towards a point.

"We would have a better chance of killing her together." There it was. She wanted an alliance with him?

"I think I can manage on my own thanks." He uncrossed his arms and went to rise from the sofa, dismissing her from his attention. There was flash of movement beside him which was followed instantly by a sharp jab in his ribs and quick as lightning he was flat on his back on the sofa. She perched above him smiling sweetly, one hand wrapped tight around his throat, her weight dispersed exactly to keep him pinned.

If her fingers hadn't been tightening determinedly around his windpipe he would have laughed at her cockiness in thinking she could over power him.

"Okay okay," he spluttered, trying to prise her fingers from his throat till she released her hand, rocking back slightly and smiling at him again.

"Willing to listen now thickhead?" she asked.

He wiped the smile from her face when he launched his weight at her, pushing her back into the sofa. With one knee pressing on her ribs he leant into her face and it was his turn to grin.

"Think you can beat me do you little girl?"

"You're an idiot Cato. A monkey could beat you," she hissed the words at him. He felt grim satisfaction at the anger he could finally hear in her voice. He dug his knee sharply into her ribs until she squirmed.

"Want to take that back?" he crooned.

"Twelve got a higher score than you idiot."

As if burnt he suddenly released her and sprang backwards, his anger reigniting viciously at the thought of his beaten training score. He jumped to his feet and began to pace the room angrily. He traced a relentless path from the sofa to the table to the window and back again.

Clove watched him grumpily, rubbing her side slightly and throwing her thoughts at him.

"She beat us both Cato. Don't forget that. We both want her dead. If we work together there is no way she will escape alive."

Even in his anger he couldn't deny the logic of her argument.

"That girl made an enemy she's gonna regret when she got that score," he growled, half to himself and half to Clove.

He stopped pacing and looked at Clove. She smiled sweetly at him from the sofa, a smile that sent a slight shiver up his spine.

"She's my enemy too Cato. And you know what they say," she said. "The enemy of my enemy is my..."

"We're not friends Clove," he interjected venomously.

She sighed and got to her feet. Ignoring his glare she turned her back on him and began to walk away. In the doorway, almost as an afterthought she turned back to him.

"Fine then. The enemy of my enemy is the one I'll kill last." She gave him a vicious smile and disappeared.


	15. Dream World

**A/N: This one's a little spicier so it's for the adults of the group. Just kidding. And it's probably a lot hotter in my head but oh well. Anyway, enjoy. –Lu**

The eerie coloured lights of the city outside were the only source of illumination in the large room of the district 2 suite. Clove padded in bare feet between the stretched shadows spread across the floor and walls. Perfectly normal furniture created dark slashes in unnatural shapes against the cold grey concrete. She had the strangest thought that if she stepped onto one of them she might disappear into a gaping hole of black nothing. There was complete silence in the apartment. Everyone had long gone to bed and she was thankful for it. A wild mix of adrenalin and fear were burning inside her and she felt like she might disappear in a fiery explosion at any moment. She had spent hours pacing her room, spinning between sadistic exhilaration at the prospect of the following day and all the pleasures the arena would hold and a deep, undeniable terror. She didn't know what the terror was and she didn't know what to do with it. It was completely foreign to her but it was there and it was threatening to eat her alive if she didn't escape the claustrophobic confines of her cold grey room.

A sharp breath was drawn from her as a voice spoke in the dimness behind her. She spun, her body slipping into a defensive position automatically, to see Cato's eyes gleaming an unnatural blue in the light of the city. He stepped from the depths of a shadow and the light rippled over his bare chest. In this half sleeping world he looked like some half-monster-half-God.

"Can't sleep?" The words were so simple yet there was a calculating cruelty behind them. It was there behind everything Cato did. Every move, every word, every glance was searching for weakness and vulnerability.

As he prowled towards her now she knew he was searching her for those very things so she raised her favourite stony gaze to him and stood her ground, hands clenched into fists at her side.

"You too," she said simply. It wasn't a question but he inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving her. Never mind the turmoil inside her she might just burn up right under his intense gaze.

"There's no one here Clove." A smile played across his lips but it wasn't comforting. Her mind quickly ran over the information that they were completely alone. They hadn't been alone at all since leaving the district. They hadn't been alone at all since the night before the reaping. The training centre had been in darkness just as this room was now. She had trailed the glorious edge of her knife down his throat, watching the blade press into his skin and knowing that the slightest pressure would break it all. He had kissed her hard and without mercy, pushing her into the ground.

It had been a moment of complete wildness. It came from nowhere and it had disappeared in an instant. A fury of wild passion had built up in the both of them and they had diffused it the only way they knew how. It wasn't love, it wasn't even affection. Neither of them were capable of that. It was pure and it was powerful and it was incontrollable.

When they were both up on stage and shaking hands over their sealed fates their eyes had locked and it was as if it had all been a tormenting dream, perhaps a nightmare. It hadn't existed.

But now it felt like they were back in that dream world. Everything felt so surreal and she knew from the look in his eyes that the fire was burning inside him just as much as it was in her. She wondered if there was any fear threaded through his, as there was hers.

It didn't feel real. She had to test it so she broke her eyes from his and melted back into the shadows. She hadn't made three steps before she felt his hands gripping her arms and spinning her around. They slammed into a wall and he brought his lips down onto hers. This kiss was no less brutal than their first but her hands clawed at his skin hungrily and distantly she felt his fingers wrapped around the base of her throat.

The wall was cold as ice against her back and Cato's body, pressed against every inch of her front was burning hot with desire. Red marks raised themselves on his skin where her fingers had gripped his arms and she inhaled his smoky scent as he pulled back, his mouth still hovering close to hers. He was watching her with narrowed eyes, his bare chest heaving with his ragged breath but a sly smile playing across his lips. He was teasing her.

Slowly she released her fingers from where they were tangled in his blonde hair and trailed her fingertips lightly down his jaw line. He lifted his chin slightly at her touch. As her fingers travelled down his throat she felt for a brief second the thud of his pulse, so vulnerable beneath its thin layer of skin. As her touch ran over the bump of his collarbone she curled her fingers and a scarlet trail bloomed in the wake of her fingertips. He growled low in his throat as her nails dug into his chest and it was her turn to grin with cruel amusement.

"Don't forget you bleed too, Cato," she whispered, her eyes fixated on the perfectly parallel lines drawn down his chest. The lines blurred together as she felt him lean in closer to her, placing his hands flat against the wall either side of her head. His body was a cage and she had nowhere to look but up at him. His blue eyes bore into her and as he dipped his head her lips parted ever so slightly. But it was on her neck that she felt his hot breath, tickling the exposed skin. She tried to suppress a shiver through her body as she felt the cool sharpness of his teeth over the thudding vein beneath her ear. His touch was gentle as he grazed his teeth over her skin but the vulnerability of the situation gave her an inexplicable thrill.

She couldn't control the hitch in her breath as she felt the slightest nip of his teeth at her neck and she felt his lips melt into a smile against her skin.

He drew his head back and looked her dead in the eye. His eyes burned bright and he ran the tip of his tongue over the even edges of his teeth. "Your blood is the sweetest of all, Clove."


	16. Chosen

**A/N: This ones a little different. Thank you so much to everyone who continues to review. And for those of you who were requesting another part to Not Dead Yet (which was a few of you) I'm planning on writing another part, a final, and it will be uploaded in these one shots sometime. -Lu**

The rumble of exploding rock echoed in the distance as the line of children made their way sedately towards the cold stone buildings. Their grey uniforms blended perfectly with the marbled grey stone which made up almost everything in District 2; houses, roads, shops, fences. It was a district leached of all colour and, looking upon the glum children, you would have thought leached of all energy too. They approached the school but there was none of the usual sounds surrounding a school; no laughter, no shouting, not even any fighting. There was complete, eerie silence over the entire district broken only by the distant rhythmic explosions of the quarries. Most locals had become accustomed to the persistent rumble long ago and whenever visitors from the Capitol commented on "that infernal noise" it always took them a few moments of confused blinking before they realised to what they were referring.

The children followed a teacher through the high gates of the school compound. They had been on an excursion to the mysterious buildings on the outskirts of town. The buildings which no one named, no one spoke of yet everyone knew what they were. It was where children were plucked from the unsmiling lines paraded before unsmiling adults and disappeared behind black doors. Every year every grade from 5 upwards was marched to the building and ordered to stand in a solemn line while they were inspected. They didn't know it but the stern adults running their eyes over their faces and prodding at their bodies had been given a summary of each child; intelligence, physical skill and most importantly obedience. The officials could mould skill but if a child was resistant of rebellious they were no use.

Very few passed this inspection and every year maybe only one child was taken from each grade. Sometimes none. No one made eye contact with the ones unlucky enough to be tapped on the shoulder. They would step forward without being told, legs wobbly, led towards the black doors. They never bothered to look back at their friends. There would be no help there.

It was simply the way things were and you just played your part in the system. If you were chosen you disappeared into the depth of the mysterious building. You never saw your friends or your family again. You lived within the grey compound's high walls and you mixed only with those trained with you. You lived in an isolated bubble of rules, training and ruthlessness.

It was thought that any interaction with those outside the centre would weaken them. It was feared that tiny splinters of humanity would slip through the rigorous brainwashing and training of years and launch themselves in the hearts of the sacrifices. They might start to question the system. They might start to doubt their abilities. They might start to fear death.

As the line of 10 year olds were released from their strict form into the 'playground' of the school a cold wind picked up and blew autumn leaves in gusts across the asphalt. There was no play equipment and there was no noise as children picked up games. Instead small groups drifted into sheltered corners of the square. Some perched on the windowsills of the building and some tucked themselves against the fence. They talked quietly amongst themselves, rendered sombre by the activity of the day.

From time to time glances were thrown at two girls who sat unspeaking against the high fence. They picked glumly at the ground as they fought back tears. Their famous threesome, the closest friends of the grade, had been torn apart that morning as one of their circle had felt that ominous tap on the shoulder. It was a kind of mourning her friends went through now, for they knew they would never see their friend again. Not until, if she made it that far, she would be stepping up before the entire district on some future reaping day and pledging her life to the Hunger Games.

Clove was one of those who sat alone. She didn't really have any friends but it never really mattered. There were quite a few who were friendless. What was the purpose in having friends when there was no play?

The railings of the side fence dug into her back as she watched the playground. There was a noise behind her and, before she could turn, a hand tapped on her shoulder. It made her shiver because she had dreaded that exact thing all morning.

But it was quickly replaced by a smile as she turned, already knowing the face she would see grinning back at her.

"Hey little squid." Cato leaned casually against the fence, his arms crossed over his chest. He may only have been three years older than her but he was already 2 feet taller and quite a towering figure.

"You're skipping _again_?" she asked, a slight scold in her voice but they both knew she didn't really mean it. "Your mother will kill you if she finds out."

He rolled his eyes in contempt. They both knew it wasn't much of a threat. Cato's mother wouldn't hurt a fly, much less the son she adored. Cato was all she had and although she tried to be strict with him there would usually be a soft smile playing on her lips before long. Cato and his mother lived next door to Clove and as a child she had spent more time in his house than her own. She hated the noise and fuss of her house; five other siblings who all demanded attention from her frazzled mother and her gruff father who stomped out to work in the morning and stomped in again at night.

She enjoyed the solitude of Cato's house and the time Cato's mother would take to teach her things. She would help out as she cooked or learn all the names of the vegetable and plants in her garden. And Cato was like the big brother who actually took care of her, unlike her own, who were rough and selfish, wrapped up in their own teenage boy problems. Cato may tease her no end and dispose the occasional playful punch but he was like his mother, gentle as a lamb really.

"Come with me Clover. You don't need to be at school today."

Clove threw a hesitant glance back at the playground and the teacher keeping a stern eye upon the children. She was tempted to slip through the fence and follow him, like she had so many times before. They never went anywhere really, but it broke up their grey boring meaningless lives. But she knew today the teachers would be keeping an even stricter eye on the pupils. They were always tense on choosing days.

"No. Not today," she muttered, disheartened.

"Your loss," he laughed easily as she began to stroll away. She watched him disappear quickly from sight, slipping between the buildings like an sleek alley cat, and sighed.

When Cato was tapped on the shoulder the following year Clove couldn't understand it. He wasn't what they wanted. They couldn't take him away from her.

He was playful and rebellious and not even particularly bright. He was the exact opposite of the kids who were usually chosen and no one knew what it was that the Officials had seen in him.

His mother disappeared inside herself when she was told and their house was no longer a refuge for Clove. It went from a place of easy, quiet happiness to a place of despair and misery.

She visited occasionally but soon she realised his mother didn't notice what time of day it was anymore, let alone who was attempting to make small talk with her.

So it was almost a relief when two years later Clove too felt that tap on the shoulder. She used to be petrified of it. Those black doors had always seemed so ominous and terrifying. But now she knew Cato was somewhere behind those doors and she wasn't so scared anymore.


	17. Miracle

**A/N: It's been a while I know. But here is a long one to make up for it. Enjoy and review if you do! :) -Lu**

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><p><em>Without it the darkness slips in. I think they call that humanity.<em>

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><p>It was developed in the secret laboratories of District 5 decades ago. The goal was to create something to make weak and vulnerable humans into the ultimate fighters for the Capitol. They use it on Peacekeepers mostly now but when it was first developed they wanted to test it. So they pulled children off the streets of District 2; children with mud in their hair and rags for clothes, children that no one would miss. They lined them up like rats in cages and they forced the drug into their systems. And they waited.<p>

The results were nothing like the Capitol could have imagined. They had wanted Peacekeepers with improved reflexes, strength and awareness. They got those things. What they hadn't counted on were the changes the drug made to the brain.

Suddenly they had children who might as well have been robots for all the humanity they showed. When the drug was pulsing through their system the Capitol no longer had scrawny, starving children watching them with pleading eyes through the close-set bars of a cage. They had ruthless killers who snarled and snapped like wild dogs for a fight.

It wore off of course, as all things must. The scientists spent years trying to find a way to make it permanent but they never could. It was enough to appease the Capitol though and they pumped it like oxygen into their Peacekeepers from then on.

No one outside District 2 noticed but the tests continued on the children. Only, as the years went by, the testing merged into training as the Capitol scientists pushed the limits of their miracle drug to the very edge. In exchange the Capitol allowed the district to select their children and to train them to fight. The drug was laced in the water of the training centre; odourless and tasteless most either didn't even know it was there or had forgotten about it entirely. So year after year District 2 produced the fiercest fighters for the Games and, even if they didn't win, their reputation always preceded them. The other Districts watched on with bitter envy but none ever knew the secret weapon of District 2.

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><p>Very few became aware of the addiction hidden within their routine. Most of the tributes, once they were selected, never left the training centre again, or at least, not for long enough periods for withdrawal to rear its ugly head. Even when they went on training missions deep into the isolated forests the water in their bottles contained their salvation.<p>

Cato was one of the few to experience the horror of withdrawal. He was famous for his stubbornness and independence among the tributes but even his trainers had cursed with exasperation the day he had abandoned his squad on a week-long mission in the woods and taken to the tracks on his own. He had grown frustrated with the 'slow' pace of his weaker comrades and he knew he could keep himself alive. Food was no problem for him, he could hunt and he had his spear, and wild animals did not frighten him. And there were plenty of mountain streams to refill his water bottle so he wasn't going to go thirsty. As he strode confidently over the barren landscape be envisaged his heroic return days before any of the others. It would probably be a record.

He made good progress on his first day. He had put three ridges between him and the group before the dusk closed in and he decided to make camp. It wasn't until he was packing up his things in the cold grey light of dawn that he first felt something amiss. He couldn't quite place what it was but something made him pause and look up. There was a new tension in the forest and his skin was prickling uncomfortably. He trained his senses to the woods around him for a few silent minutes but nothing else happened so he shrugged and finished packing. He didn't feel anything else wrong that day as he inhaled the cold mountain air and felt his muscles complain from the torturous pace he insisted on keeping. He didn't think of it again until that night when, just as he was drifting off to sleep, it was there again, only this time worse. It began as a little voice in his head, whispering something unintelligible in his ear that was enough to set his hair on end.

In the morning it was ten times worse. The voice had turned into a constant chatter, barraging him with what could only be described as doubt. Little nagging thoughts slid under his confidence and tendrils of darkness curled their way around his brain as he continued to hike his way through the mountains.

When the search party finally found him four days later the darkness had almost completely swallowed him whole. He was curled up on the ground and looked as if he hadn't moved for some time. He couldn't eat or drink, he was too consumed by the overwhelming onslaught of sorrow and doubt which had weighed down his mind and body in the absence of the drug.

Perhaps someone who had known what it felt like to function normally without it would have been better prepared for the withdrawal. But Cato had no memory of feeling any of the emotions that suddenly assaulted him so he was defenceless against them.

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><p><strong>Cato<strong>

Cato never learnt its Capitol name. He only knew it by what he heard the medics and trainers muttering to each other that one time. Whatever complicated and fancy name they call it in the Capitol, in District 2 they know it by another name. Heaven.

It probably only makes sense to those who haven't experiences life both with and without it. It's not necessarily that life is fantastic with it, it's more that life, 'normal' life without it is relative hell. He was so desperate to have that numbness back again. He didn't know what to do with the horrible swirl of guilt and pain that became his brain. He remembered thinking to himself 'how does anyone function without it'? The answer is that they don't, at least not doing what they did. It would be impossible for the District 2 tributes to train as they do without it. No sane person could willingly commit themselves to the torture and killing that is training with the rock of humanity dragging them downwards.

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><p><strong>Clove<strong>

Clove didn't understand why Cato wouldn't let them drink from the lake. Seriously, the guy was unhinged! She went to fill up one of the perfectly good empty canisters they had gotten from the Cornucopia and he knocked it out of her hand and babbled some nonsense about how they could only drink the water supplied in the Cornucopia. Normally she would rather stab out her own eyes than let Cato boss her around but there was something scary about his conviction that made her bite her tongue and snatch the bottle he offered.

His reaction when their supplies were blown up perplexed her too. She knew he was crazy, unstable, but he completely lost it. He raged around the Cornucopia, bellowing at everything and nothing and all she could do was stand sullenly with her hands on her hips and watch him in confusion. Sure, she was mad too, but he was beyond furious.

"What-the-hell!" she shouted at him eventually after 15 minutes of shouting. He stormed back across the clearing to her and glared at her with eyes better suited to a wild animal. It made her want to shrink away, to drop her gaze, but she didn't do that so she stood her ground and glared back.

"You don't understand," he spat at her contemptuously. "Without that-" he waved a hand at the scattered and burnt remains of their supplies, "without that we are doomed!"

"I can hunt. We've got water. Seriously, get a grip Cato or we're all dead anyway!" she hissed back at him. She didn't like the idea of the cameras listening in on his words. District 2 was never doomed.

He looked at her a moment and she thought he was going to hit her but then he bellowed again and turned, kicking at a charred black object next to them. It sailed over the clearing.

There was the ripple of canon fire and it made them both look up, their eyes searching the skyline. After a moment of silence they glanced back at each other.

"Marvel?" Clove asked, a little too hopefully.

Cato shrugged. "Time to break it up anyway. Let's go." He turned his back on her and marched across the clearing. Clove paused a moment, determined to show that she didn't follow him, she went of her own accord, but she eventually picked her way through the wreckage after him.

* * *

><p><strong>Cato<strong>

He didn't know how to explain to her that the destruction of their supplies was beyond bad. They had no water. He wondered how long it would be before it began to set in and it made him sick to his stomach. They were as good as dead without their miracle.

He kept to himself in sullen silence as they survived the next two nights. Clove was right, they could hunt and they drank water collected from the lake to stay alive, but he could already feel the tendrils of humanity creeping their way around his brain. He was losing his edge. He could feel it almost as if it was happening to someone else, and he watched as he got softer, weaker. The darkness brought with it a wash of guilt as his brain fully comprehended his actions over the last few days. He craved the numbness again, anything to take away this sickening feeling that clung to his stomach day and night.

Clove growled at him every time they bumped into each other but apart from that they existed in silence. He didn't know how to explain to her but he had no doubt she was beginning to feel the effects too.

One night they were lying in the darkness, staring up at the canopy, both pretending to be asleep. Suddenly it hit him like a truck and his chest constricted painfully. Air. He couldn't breathe and it felt like there were metal bands tightening around his chest, tightening, tightening.

He gasped and sat bolt upright, clutching at his throat. He dimly sensed Clove sitting up too to his left, staring at him, but all he could concentrate on was getting enough oxygen into his lungs. He closed his eyes tight and willed his heartbeat to slow down. He stopped fighting to breathe and slowly the bands began to loosen. Shakily he drew sweet air into his lungs, deeper and deeper breaths till they were almost gone.

He counted his breaths slowly for a few minutes and then turned to look at Clove. Through the dimness he could see something wild in her eyes. She was scared.

"What is it?" she whispered at him in a small voice.

With a cough he struggled to his feet and moved over to sit next to her. He leant their heads closer together, always aware of the cameras surrounding them. He expected her to move away indignantly, normally she would have, but they were both different people now. Or maybe they were themselves, untainted, and what was different was them under the drug.

In as calm a voice as he could manage he explained everything he knew to her, which wasn't much. He told her what it was like, what they could expect. She listened to him in complete silence but he felt the tremors of fear rippling from her.

"How do we stop it?" she asked when he paused, but he knew from her tone of voice that she already knew the answer.

He flicked his eyes up to hers and gave her the answer in his silence.

* * *

><p>Perhaps they should have taken the opportunity then and there and killed each other. But they held onto a slither of hope.<p>

But that meant that by the time they knew they had no choice, it was already too late. Their minds were twisted and controlled by the withdrawal and they couldn't think logically enough to kill themselves. It happened anyway of course but they last few days were torture. They were locked in their own minds, unable to get free.

None of it felt real by the time Cato was balanced on top of the Cornucopia. Some detached part of his brain recognised his babbling and called himself crazy but he couldn't stop it. The manic laughed bubbled up inside of him.

He felt the pain of death alright. No matter where he was there was no avoiding the teeth ripping into his flesh but there was a sweetness in the way the agony overrode the twisted mess of his mind and then there follow the sweetest thing of all. Nothing.


	18. Nothing

**A/N: Wow so many reviews! You guys are freaking awesome. And I'm not sure what your fanfiction name is but to that tumblr fan (you know who you are), you made my week so thank you so so much. -Lu**

* * *

><p>In district 2 the victor's village was always a source of life. It was always at full capacity and a steady stream of people poured in and out of the gates every day. Music could be heard playing from the houses and in the evening the sound of quiet chattering as people shared a meal or a drink. Every month or so raucous parties were held which were the envy of all those not invited.<p>

For those that returned held a special place in society. They were idols to the children and young people and treated as respected equals by the elders. People came to them for advice, judgement, or even just to see their heroes. Sometimes little children would wave at a victor as they walked into the main town. The children would scuttle to the side of the road and stare with wide eyes as they passed, simultaneously in awe and fearful of the terrifying monsters who claimed the entire districts love. Victory was celebrated beyond all things.

Defeat was shameful.

All the young sacrifices trained from childhood were taught that defeat wasn't even an option. It didn't matter that in every year at least one of them had to lose. Defeat didn't exist.

No one could remember the names of those that didn't win. The second that their canon boomed in the arena their names slipped from the memory of the district and it was if they had never existed.

Even in the minds of their loved ones their image was determinedly erased, their voice forgotten. They had never been children. They had never been scared teenagers dying for love of their district. They simple ceased to exist. Because if you were defeated you were nothing.

Autumn leaves blew over the paths where they had played as little children with their siblings. Their setting at the table was quietly removed. One less person joined that family for dinner every night. Even if anyone felt the gaping hole where their brother or sister or son or daughter had sat they didn't say it.

There was no grieving in district 2. Because nothing had been lost.

In the training centre the future tributes perhaps avoided the preferred station of the dead tribute for a few weeks. But not out of respect. Superstition drove them, as if the bad luck of dying could somehow be transferred through the handle of a sword of blade of a knife.

Sometimes they were forced to watch reruns of the old games. If they caught sight of one of their dead comrades, the number 2 blazing from their jackets, there would be a stony silence. Some would look away, ignoring their existence. Others would continue to stare at the screen as if there was no one on it. As if one of their own wasn't dying before their eyes.

It was ironic but the only people in the district who held their memory were those who had come back alive from the arena. They never spoke aloud of their memory but most of them held close the sound of their voices, the colour of their eyes, the syllables of their name. They felt it was their duty to keep at least something alive of those who had died so they could live. Even if that hadn't been their intention, those left knew that their hearts would not be beating in their chests if their friends' hadn't ceased.

The night before they had entered the arena Cato and Clove had made a pact. They were both shy about it, reluctant to reveal that the thought of death haunted them. Even though they both felt horribly alone in the coldness and silence of the District 2 suite they couldn't bring themselves to fully reveal a weakness in front of the other.

Cato rubbed a hand up his arm and studied the ground sheepishly.

"You know, Clove..." His words disappeared into a tense silence.

"Yeah I know," she muttered eventually, staring determinedly out the window but not seeing the city beyond.

"If I win...," he trailed off again and followed her gaze.

"I'll remember you too Cato," she said just soft enough for him to hear. He nodded glumly and they lapsed back into silence. Neither of them were big with words or speeches but it seemed to be enough for both of them- the knowledge that if they died tomorrow at least there would be one person on the planet who remembered they had ever existed.

You're never truly dead till no living person can recall the cadence of your voice or the shape of your eyes or the flutter felt in their heart when you smile.


	19. Family and Friends

**CATO'S MOTHER**

What right did these two have? What right did these two children have to stand up on that stage before me? What right did their hearts have to beat in their chests, for the air to fill their lungs, for their eyes to look down at me? The day that my child died I thought it would surely be the worst day of my life. But somehow this feels worse. Even though there is an endless blue sky stretching above us and the sun in beating down hot on our backs and the breaths of my friends and family ring in my ears, this is still worse. It is unbelievable hard to stand down here in resolute silence while the two children who took my son's place walk out onto the stage.

I don't blame them. Of course I do not.

But I still want someone to tell me why they have the right to be alive while my son lies cold and dead in the ground. When we were watching the Games on the screens set up in the village hall it was impossible to think about the other children up there. I couldn't think of their families or their friends. I couldn't think of their mothers sitting all over Panem just as I did, their hearts in their throats as they prayed for their child's life. I'm a very logical person. I knew that there would be 23 mothers without a child at the end of it but I simply couldn't let that take over my brain. I vaguely remember screaming at the screen, screaming at Cato to fight, to kill, to survive. I wanted my baby back and I didn't care then how many other children he had to rip through to have him back in my arms.

Even though he hadn't let me hug him in years, even though he was vicious and sometimes the sadistic smile on his face and the manic look in his eye filled my heart with fear I loved him. Even though he was a killer I loved him because he was my little boy.

**CLOVE'S BROTHER**

It's an awful day, the day the Victory Party comes to District 2. It's always bad when we've lost, hell, it's bad even when we've won because there's still one family in the crowd grieving. But today it's twice as bad. Because we lost our tributes when we could have had them both back. Instead two terrified looking kids stand up in their place. It's twice as bad because one of them is standing in the place where my little sister should be.

I chose to stand with my gang of friends instead of my family. I prefer to be in the mass of strong, defiant young men who stare at the Peacekeepers with crossed arms. We're not rebellious but we're sure as hell not happy. We all come from the poorer mining families and we generally resent any form of authority. I thought I would feel better standing amongst their strength than amidst the weakness of my family. I thought I would feel more...I don't know, detached, from the events. It doesn't work. It still feels like absolute shit.

I can't help but stare at the girl of the pair. Their _girl on fire_. There is nothing special about her I think as my eyes run over her plain brown hair and vacant expression. Oh I can see how the prep team has made her all 'pretty' and colourful. They've done their best. But there's still not one single thing that's special about her. I was kind of hoping I'd look at her and suddenly understand why the hell she was worthy of living. I don't know if I expected to see a halo or something but I'm sadly disappointed. Because it just reminds me that she's just another ordinary kid from a group of ordinary kids and that there isn't a single reason why she should have lived. Not a single reason why my little sister should have been killed at 15.

Not. One. Reason.

It had made me sick to watch that oaf from 11 spare her life. He had killed Clove without mercy and then turned around and spared this _thing's_ life. Who had made him God? Who had given him the power to choose life or choose death?

**FRIEND**

The so-called star crossed lovers make me sick. I want to rip them both from that stage and let everyone in this crowd tear their precious limbs from their bodies. I want to hear them scream. They deserve a slow and painful death. I don't give a damn about what they all tell me. _It's not their fault. They didn't kill them, it was really the Capitol. Cato and Clove knew what they were getting into_. I don't give a damn about that _logic_. These two are the reason my friends didn't come. If the universe was fair, and the deaths of these two District 12 pretenders would bring my friends back I wouldn't think twice about slitting their throats. But it won't so I'll have to make do with staring daggers at them instead.

But I wish there was two things I could tell them- Katniss and Peeta. I wish I could let this Katniss girl know what she owed Clove her life. I wonder if she knows that I wonder if she remembers the Bloodbath when that boy's axe was coming down at her head and Clove's knife was the only thing to save her. I wonder if she knows that the kill that saved her own miserable life was actually the only one Clove committed. That my friend, toted across this pathetic country of ours as a cold blooded killer who deserved her terrified death, only killed one boy, and that if she hadn't the Capitol would have had a very early end to their romance with the Girl on Fire.

And I wish I could corner them in a dark room and hiss at them that I know their lie. They're not in love. Surely everyone can see that. Anyone who knows what two young people look like in love should be able to see it in a second. I'd like to whisper to them that they should have studied real love a bit closer in the Arena so they could pull off their pathetic little act now. It shouldn't be all gooey stares and sloppy kisses. That stuff makes me sick. Love is a swift, hidden smile. Love is the passing of a dagger. Love is the offering of a kill. Love isn't flashy and isn't fake.

These two don't know a thing about love.


	20. Fear and Anger

**A/N: Language and heartbreak warning. **

"So...to the Capitol," Clove mused as she stared out the train window. Absently she played with the tasselled edge of the curtain, twirling the thread around her finger tighter and tighter until with a sudden snap she pulled it from the fabric. She looked at the broken curtain with surprise and tossed the tassel aside, ignoring the disapproving squeak from their escort.

"What do you think it'll be like?" she asked Cato, perching on the arm of the sofa next to him and peering over his shoulder at the papers in his hand. He ignored her and continued to stare at the profiles of their fellow tributes. "Cato? Are you even listening to me?" Clove pestered him, jabbing him in the shoulder.

"Shut up!" he bellowed suddenly, startling everyone in the carriage by jumping to his feet and throwing the papers aside with fury. He glared in Clove's direction, though he couldn't meet her eyes and just fixed on a point beyond her shoulders instead. She froze and narrowed her eyes against his anger. "Just be quiet!" he shouted again, turning and storming from the carriage. The door slammed shut behind him and all eyes swivelled from his departing back to Clove, who tried to hide her shock behind a stony expression. Feeling their curious gaze on her she growled low in her throat and stomped from the carriage in the opposite direction to Cato.

* * *

><p>They didn't speak again throughout the train journey and their arrival at the Capitol. Clove determinedly gave Cato the cold shoulder, avoiding his eyes and turning her back on him whenever he entered a room. It was a familiar pattern of their fighting and oddly it brought a bit of comfort to her. Eventually he would give in and she would be able to talk to him again. He would never actually <em>apologise<em>, not in so many words, but she would know it and, more importantly, so would he.

It had always been like this between them. Their friendship was defined as much by their fighting as it was by their laughter. After all, they weren't just ordinary little children. Their friendship had been formed over clashing metal and bleeding wounds and broken bones. Sometime their fighting blended so much with their peace that Clove found herself almost liking the conflict. Or perhaps it was just that sometimes, recently, in the heat of argument, Cato had pushed her up against the wall and kissed her so hard she forgot how to breathe. That was a very different way to end their arguments and the first time it had happened she had hissed at him that she would personally cut his heart from his chest if he ever tried it again. But she didn't, a he did.

As Cato stomped ahead of her through the District 2 suite Clove felt that something was different about this fight. To be honest she didn't actually know what had brought it on. They almost always had a source, even if it was a trivial, petty one, but this time Cato's fury seemed to have appeared from nowhere. As soon as they had arrived on the train after Reaping he had been sullen and withdrawn. "Child," Clove muttered to herself as she heard his door slam. She walked through the now silent apartment and disappeared into the isolation of her own room, telling herself she liked the loneliness.

* * *

><p>Their first day of training went perfectly to plan. All the other pathetic little tributes looked terrified as the Careers showed their deadly skill and Clove enjoyed the admiration in Glimmer and Marvel's eyes as her knives found their centre target. But it annoyed her that Cato still acted like she was invisible. By coincidence they had been standing near each other when the male tribute from District 6 fell from the high net. Clove smirked as he rolled on the ground moaning and clutching his side, and instinctively her eyes had sought out Cato's to share her amusement. Their eyes had connected for the briefest of moments but the smile was wiped from her face as he looked straight through her before turning away. She wanted to shout at him but she had too much dignity for that so instead she made do with later sending a throwing knife dangerously close to where he stood talking seriously with Marvel. When they had both looked up at her his gaze had been just as stony.<p>

"Sorry. Slipped," she said innocently, shrugging. Marvel rolled his eyes but Cato set his jaw and glared in her direction. He knew she hadn't 'slipped' in six years.

* * *

><p>As they waited in the hallway for their interviews to start Clove seethed. The annoying prep team and her stupid escort were getting on her nerves. They had actually wanted her to portray the sweet, little girl angel. Idiots. The floaty orange dress was driving her nuts, it kept getting caught on her ankles when she walked, and she felt ridiculous with the amount of serum in her hair and freaking glitter on her face.<p>

"Where've you been?" she muttered grumpily, batting her dress out of the way as Cato strolled in, looking annoyingly suave in a sharp blue suit. He paused for a moment before looking down at her coldly.

"None of your business." His eyes flicked once down her body before he tossed his head and went to move away.

"No. Fucking stop Cato." She was wary of the other tributes milling around them and the words were an angry whisper. She reached out a glittered arm and grabbed his elbow, pulling him back.

She felt a jolt go through his body and he turned angrier eyes on her than she had ever seen.

"Don't talk to me." He only hissed four words but they were pure venom and she pulled back, startled despite herself.

"What is wrong with you?" she whispered angrily.

They glared at each other furiously for a moment before the annoying voice of one of the escorts broke the silence.

"Children. Line up over here please, in silence. District 1 you're about to go on. Hurry, hurry please!" The voice grated on them all and several people flinched but everyone began to wander into a line.

Clove shoved passed Cato and marched over to the line, throwing herself into a spot behind Marvel. She refused to look around at Cato as she felt him slip into a place behind her.

* * *

><p>She was waiting for him that night. She had used one of the knives from the dining table to break into his room and she sat cross legged on his unmade bed, staring expectantly at the door.<p>

He stopped dead when he saw her but covered it quickly with a scowl.

"Get out," he said simply, holding the door open.

"No."

"I said get out!" he shouted.

"NO!" she shouted back louder. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on Cato."

"What is going on Clove? Have you not noticed where we are? What we're going to be doing tomorrow?"

She frowned at his question, her anger momentarily forgotten in her confusion. "We're in the Hunger Games Cato, just like we always planned."

He pressed his lips together and threw the door shut with a bang that echoed throughout the entire apartment. No one would care. To be honest their mentors didn't give a damn and everyone else seemed somewhat terrified of them. He didn't answer her, just strode across the room and glared at the window. Clove felt her anger rising again at his stubbornness. She was sick of him being all cryptic. This wasn't how they worked. She could always rely on Cato to speak his mind, even if he acted that out in threatening fury at least she always knew where they stood.

"Just fucking get it out Cato!" she snapped at him.

"You don't get it Clove!" he shouted, lunging towards her suddenly and slamming his palm against the wall inches from her head. She didn't flinch because she knew he wouldn't hurt her like that, despite the manic look in his eyes. She held his pure blue gaze.

"What don't I get Cato?" Her voice was like ice.

"I'm going to have to kill you!" It wasn't what she had been expecting at all, and she stared at him speechless. With a defeated sigh he dropped his arm from the wall and collapsed onto the bed, running a hand through his blonde hair so it stood up in tufts. He looked tired.

"Cato. Wha-?" she began.

"I've been trying so hard to make it easier. But no matter how much I tell myself I don't give a damn I do."

"Cato. We knew this would happen. I don't understand."

They had always planned to volunteer together.

He looked up at her. "I don't want to kill you Clove."

She stared at him and for the first time she actually thought about the position they were in. Training for the Games, volunteering for the Games, winning the Games; that was all she had ever been told and all she had ever thought about. That knowledge was just as natural as breathing, so she had never actually thought about what it would be like to walk into that arena with Cato. She had never truly thought about what it would mean; only one would come out.

"You're going to have to kill me, or I'm going to have to kill you," she whispered to herself in realisation. A strange sensation fluttered in her stomach, was that fear? She didn't like it so she turned it to anger instead. "You bastard!" she shouted at Cato, stomping her foot. "You've been a complete, utter bastard!"

"What else was I supposed to do Clove?" he shouted back. Shouting felt better than the misery of fear.

"How about not be so pathetic?" she yelled. "How about you grow a backbone and get over it? You're a fucking Career Cato. And look at you all snivelling and whiney." Her voice dripped with contempt as she looked down at him sitting on the bed.

With a roar of fury he rose to his feet, easily towering over her. "You watch yourself! I could break you in half like _that_!"He snapped his fingers in front of her nose.

"You're weak," she hissed at him. "You're pathetic and you're weak." She turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her to make all the windows rattle again. Once she was in the silence of the hallway she leant against the door and took a deep breath, ignoring the way her hands were shaking. This all felt wrong. Why had he said that? If he had just had the courage to keep it together she never would have had that moment of dread. But now it was there, firmly planted in her mind and she couldn't shake it free. They were going to die. In the silence and loneliness of the hallway the thought suddenly overwhelmed her, towering over he like a terrifying monster. Sliding down the door she flattened her hand over her mouth to keep in the sobs that rose up uncontrollably. This wasn't like her. She never cried. She never got scared. But then why did she feel like screaming and why were there tears tracking down her cheeks right now?

As she held her breath to keep from crying there was a noise, a soft thud, from the other side of the door. She wondered if he had thrown something across the room. That was a very Cato like thing to do when he was angry. She loved his temper. It was thrilling, exhilarating, unpredictable.

Suddenly the emptiness of the hallway was too much. She reached up and used the door handle to pull herself to her feet then eased open the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, and there were several broken looking objects against the far wall. He was staring at her, even though she had slipped through the door silently, he had noticed.

"Cato-" she said, uncaring of the tears glistening on her cheeks. He took three long strides towards her and suddenly she was wrapped in his strength and warmth. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled his familiar scent, and the terrified fluttering in her stomach eased slightly. "What do we do?" she muttered into his shirt.

She felt him exhale against her hair. "I don't know." His voice sounded so different from his normal arrogant confidence. There seemed nothing else to say so they stood for what felt like hours wrapped around each other.

"Come on. Let's get some sleep," he said at last. Reluctantly Clove pulled away from Cato, her fingers struggling to let go of his shirt. But he reached out and grabbed her elbow as she went to turn towards the door. "Stay here?" he asked brusquely.

It seemed it was a night for acting out of character because Clove nodded without a second hesitation. She couldn't imagine anything worse than returning to her silent, cold, empty room and staring at the ceiling for the hours till dawn.

Clove never thought she would crave the feeling of Cato's arms around here like she did now. She curled up on the bed next to him and pressed her forehead to the base of his throat where she could feel his heartbeat against her skin.

Despite her fear she felt herself growing sleepy. Just as she was drifting off to sleep a thought occurred to her, something she needed to say. "I don't want to kill you either Cato."


	21. Spitfire

**A/N: I keep thinking I'm done but then another idea just pops into my head. Now, you may begin reading this and think- hey this isn't Cato & Clove, wtf is Marvel doing in there? But I promise you. It is very much Clato so stick with it. And please review my pretties. -Lu**

It was late at night, the night before the Games and Marvel and Clove were the only two tributes left in the training rooms. They had been the last to start at the sparring station and their fight had gone on so long everyone else had either become bored or hungry and wandered away.

But they were both getting tired and the fight was beginning to turn. It was just like fighting with Cato, Clove thought. Marvel was stronger than she was so, without her knives, he eventually got the upper hand in the fight. Still, she landed several harsh hits to his ribcage and one to his jaw which had him momentarily reeling. He took them in his stride though and when he finally pinned her against the wall he was grinning.

"Nice spark," he whispered in her ear. She tried her best to kick him but she couldn't get leverage enough under his weight.

"Get off you oaf!" she hissed at him writhing under grip to no avail.

"Now now, be nice," he said with a creepy smile, twisting her wrists slightly. "You're lucky this isn't the real thing. Or you'd be dead."

She gave him the most vicious look she could muster. A look that had made Cato and the other 18 year old tributes in the training centre drop their gaze and scuff their feet. "No, _you're_ lucky it's not the real thing. You're lucky I don't have a knife or I'd cut out those pretty little eyes of yours and make you eat them," she hissed venomously.

He didn't smile but he cocked his head to the side and studied her seriously.

"What?" she spat at him after a few moments of being studied. She decided she preferred his teasing to this.

"So much anger little spitfire," he chided. "Now what could possibly make someone so young so angry at the world?"He pressed his lips together and stared at her like he was reading her.

"Stop trying to look clever Marvel. It doesn't suit you," she snarled, deflecting his question. She didn't like his perceptiveness.

"Hostility," he stated with a decisive nod. "Now what would you be hiding with that?"

She glared at him and gave another useless kick. "I'm not hiding anything."

"What could it be?" he murmured to himself, ignoring her struggles and protests. "Resentment of authority? No everyone has that. Rejection? Mmmm... no I don't think so." Clove rolled her eyes. "Daddy issues?" he said with a flashing grin. She hissed at him and he chuckled.

"Shut your mouth Marvel or I'll call for Cato and then together we'll rip your spoilt little head off your shoulders," she snapped.

"Oh!...or... forbidden love perhaps?" he said with a smirk. Clove cursed herself for mentioning Cato because it seemed to have given Marvel an idea. His eyes widened as he studied her expression and he gave a self-satisfied chuckle. "Ohhh..."

"Back off brainless!" she hissed again.

"Let me guess. Unrequited love for brutal, bloody Cato?" he asked with an innocent expression. Before she could speak though his eyes widened and he made a little noise of realisation. Clove's eyes narrowed suspiciously as her brain raced over what he could have concluded.

"No, no, no...I get it," Marvel muttered to himself, a smile spreading across his lips.

* * *

><p><em><span>Flashback<span>_

"_Look at all the pathetic little weaklings," Marvel scoffed as the scanned the line of tributes. Cato gave him a contemptuous look and made a show of arranging his golden armour._

"_Looks like you lucked out in a district partner this year," Marvel remarked as he spotted Clove slipping through the figures, most of which towered over her. Cato lifted his eyes to what Marvel was looking at and grunted. Marvel didn't know it but he was resisting the urge to slam him against a wall. _

"_See if you think that when she's holding a blade to your throat," was all he said in a disinterested voice, glancing away. _

_Marvel turned too and looked at Cato, crossing his arms and grinning like he thought them friends or something. "Well, suppose we should be happy there's some pretty ones this year at least," he said jokingly. _

_Cato lifted a furious gaze to him and the smile was wiped from Marvel's face. "Look man I-" he began._

"_Whatever," shrugged Cato, his expression changing instantly back to his nonchalance. He scolded himself for letting that little display of anger through. He shouldn't care what Marvel said. On the contrary, he should probably agree. The best he could manage though was indifference. "She'll be dead before the end of the week anyway," he said. His tone was uncaring but Marvel noticed the clench of his jaw as he spoke and it made him frown. _

"_Yeah..." he murmured in agreement though he was processing Cato's reaction and trying to figure out what it meant. _

_Cato shrugged again and sidled away, bumping into a tiny tribute as he passed and sending the poor boy sprawling. "Watch it!" Cato snapped and the boy quivered in fear. _

_Marvel considered Cato's retreating back and his eyes moved to Clove who was glaring angrily at her stylist. _

"_Interesting," he muttered._

* * *

><p>"Very interesting," Marvel muttered again as it all fell into place. Clove growled and suddenly twisted underneath him, taking advantage of his distraction to lift her legs up and kick at his chest. Marvel was sent reeling backwards and Clove sprang away, dancing on the balls of her feet and poised for his attack. Marvel lay sprawled on his back and looked up at her with surprise, until he burst out laughing.<p>

Clove hesitated, unsure what was going on and her fists dropped slightly. "What?" she spat at him, annoyed by his laughter.

"You love each other?" Marvel chuckled.

Clove froze at his words and it was all the answer he needed. He rolled over onto his side still chuckling. "You love each other and you can never be together. I see how it is," he said slowly as he clambered to his feet. Clove lifted her fists again and tensed, glaring at him with narrowed eyes but she didn't dignify his speculations with a reply, mostly because she was worried what would be revealed in her tone if she did.

Once on his feet Marvel looked at her and grinned, his body language casual. He wasn't at all threatened by her now. Damn. She would have to fix that. But before she could attack him he simply turned and sidled away from her. She stared after him confused. At the door he half turned back and spoke over his shoulder.

"Clove?" he called.

"Yeah?" she answered before she could stop herself.

"Don't worry. You'll be together in death." And with that he disappeared from the room and left Clove, fists still partly raised, to contemplate his words.


	22. Afterwards

**This is set imagining if Cato and Clove had won the Games together and returned to District 2. **

**A/N: TWO VERY IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTES: **Firstly, credit for this idea must go to Katy. She wanted me to write this up for her so she gave me the skeleton and I added the flesh.

Secondly, I am aware that many people will think this out of character, so no need to tell me. We know how Cato and Clove appeared to everyone else but we don't know how they were with each other right? Whole point of this. So it could be argued that this isn't OOC too (even though it's out of MY character for them so I'm going to say it is). My point is OOC is a subjective thing when we have so little factual information to work with in characters. So respect other people's interpretations.

* * *

><p>"When did you last sleep?" he asked, frowning as he looked at the dark shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her skin, severe against the raven black of her hair.<p>

"Just drop it Cato," Clove muttered, moving passed him into the house.

"Clo-" he said, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around her wrist to bring her back. His fingers encircled her tiny wrist far too easily and he felt a jolt go through her body.

"And when did you stop eating?" he asked quietly, pulling her towards him.

"Let me go." Her words didn't have their usual venom. He wished she would fight him but she seemed to look straight through him and he hated that more than anything. He hated the way that, when he released her, she seemed to slip through his fingers like a wisp of smoke. He was worried that one day soon she would disappear completely.

He closed the door after her and followed her down the corridor to where the gathering of people sat, chattering away about nonsense that he didn't give a damn about. He spent the entire evening watching her closely from across the room.

He knew she barely slept any more. He could hear her screaming in the night from the night terrors. He had had them too, but after several weeks they had eased off. He had the occasional one now, but they had changed. Now his nightmares always involved Clove and she was usually disappearing right before his eyes. As he watched her he thought maybe his dreams were coming true. She was disappearing. She was there but not there. A skeletal shadow that nodded and gave the occasional polite smile when needed, but they never reached her eyes. She looked dead inside.

He tried to watch her over the next few weeks but she didn't make it easy. She wouldn't talk to him anymore. A few times he knocked on her door. She answered once but told him she had a headache. She hadn't answered again, even though she knew he knew she was there. He hated picturing her holed up in the dark house all alone day after day, the monsters materialising out of the shadows to make her scream.

One night he was stacking the wood fire when there was a soft tap on the front door. He almost didn't hear it it was so soft. He placed the logs aside and moved towards the front of the house. Winter was coming and a cold, sleety wind pelted against the windows.

He opened the door a crack and started when he saw her there, dark hair blowing about her wildly like a flock of ravens.

"Clove!"

She smiled at him and his stomach dropped. "Cato," she sighed, taking a stumbling step towards him. Instinctively he reached out for her and she didn't flinch or pull away from him this time.

"What's wrong?" he asked nervously. She stared at him vacantly and his fears were confirmed. "You took Morphling didn't you?"

"There's beautiful, beautiful...nothing," she sighed, smiling at him again. The smile scared him the most. It wasn't hers. It wasn't right. He gripped her arms and pulled her upright so he could look into her eyes. She laughed weakly and tipped her head back.

"You're freezing," he said shortly. "Let's get you inside." He pulled her through the door, out of the force of the cold wind. He led her into the main room where the wood fire crackled away and the logs waited to be stacked beside it.

"Sit," he commanded, giving her a gentle push on her shoulders so she folded onto a chair. She slumped back and gazed up at him with unfocused eyes.

"I wanted to tell you something," she said vaguely.

He brought a blanket from the bedroom and draped it around her shoulders. Kneeling in front of her he tucked the edges of the blanket around her and looked up into her eyes. "What did you want to tell me?" he asked gently, his heart twisting with pain.

"I-I..." she trailed off and frowned. "Cato, don't kill me," she whispered eventually. His heart twisted painfully again. She thought Morphling had brought her escape but it had just blurred the line between fantasy and reality, allowing her nightmares to spill over into waking.

He reached up and touched her cold cheek. "I'm not going to kill you Clove," he said quietly.

Suddenly she smiled at him, her eyes gleaming. "You should come here Cato. It's wonderful. There's nothing here but...air!" She wasn't making any sense again and he sighed, dropping his hand.

"Clove-" he muttered, not sure what he was trying to say, as he rose to his feet. With a sudden movement she shook off the blanket and rose unsteadily to her feet in front of him. As she tilted she reached out an instinctive hand and steadied herself on his chest. He gripped her elbows, keeping her upright.

"Clove, sit down," he urged gently. She shook her head wildly, sending her tangled hair flying around her.

"No."

Suddenly her knees buckled and she dropped. His hands moved to grab at her, grasping her around the waist and pulling her back up. She mumbled something into his chest as she rested her head against him.

"Clove you need to lie down," he said, but he felt her weakly shake her head again. Always stubborn.

"It's...so...beautiful," she whispered. He sighed. Just as he was contemplating guiding her back into the chair he felt her slip under his fingers again and he held her tighter as she sagged.

"Clove?" he asked. She was limp in his arms. He hooked one arm around her waist to support her and brushed the hair away from her face. Passed out cold.

With another sigh he pulled her into his arms, easily carrying her weight. She had always been light but now she felt like thin air. Carefully he carried her to the bedroom and laid her down on the covers. He returned to the main room to collect the blanket and tucked it around her, gently touching her outstretched hand as he did. He stroked the inside of her palm and her fingers curled reflexively towards him. When he was done he sat down lightly on the edge of the bed and looked at her. He brushed her hair from her face and felt wetness on his finger tips. She was crying. She was crying in her sleep.

"Oh Clove," he said sadly, tenderly. He gazed at her for a few more moments before he rose to his feet and left her to sleep.

* * *

><p>It was mid morning before he saw her. He stood in the kitchen staring out the window and there was a small noise behind him. He spun to see her leaning heavily against the door frame, looking up at him hazily through her messy hair.<p>

"Morning," he said, moving towards her. He stopped when he shrunk back and he stood awkwardly a few feet from her. "How do you feel?" he asked warily.

"Fine," she rasped. He could almost have laughed at the ridiculousness of her response but instead he felt like screaming. He simultaneously wanted to shake her and scream at her and wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

"You need to eat," he said simply. He nodded towards the table where he had put some bread and plates.

"I'm not hungry," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I'm just going to go." She pushed herself from the doorframe with visible effort.

"No. You're going to eat," he snapped. He didn't wait to register the surprise or anger in her eyes but strode forward and grabbed her gently by the elbow, guiding her to the table and pushed her into a seat. "I don't even want to know how long it's been since you last ate," he said simply, taking a seat next to her and reaching for the bread. He pulled a slice towards him and buttered it, aware that she was looking at him. "Here." He shoved the food towards her and turned to his own slice. Taking a bite he glared at her pointedly till she slowly lifted hers and nibbled at the edge. Although he was glad to see her eat he noted with dismay the defeated way she obeyed him. She never would normally have let him speak to her like that.

They sat in silence for ages. He finished two slices of bread and turned an intense gaze on her every now and again to make sure she took a bite of hers.

"Thank-you," she mumbled eventually, expressionlessly. His resolve vanished as he watched her study the table in front of her.

"Clove-" he began but she interrupted him.

"I'm going to go." She rose slowly to her feet, using the table for support. He mirrored her and was on his feet in seconds.

"Clove?" he asked worriedly, rushing to her side as she groaned and lifted a hand to her head, closing her eyes. "You alright?" he asked softly, automatically supporting her. Did she realise she was leaning into him?

"I'm...just..." she murmured her eyes still closed.

"Come on," he said gently, scooping her into his arms. She didn't protest and her head flopped against his arm. He returned her to the bedroom and laid her down on the bed again. As he pulled away from her her fingers curled around his wrist and tugged him weakly back.

"Clove?" he asked, bending over her, but her eyes were shut and she didn't reply, though her fingers remained curled around his arm. "I'll stay," he murmured. He moved to the other side of the bed and climbed on, leaning against the headboard. He reached down and grasped her hand in his, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "Sleep," he whispered.


	23. Capture the Flag

**A/N: Thank-you to snitchstar and HungerGames1, my two darling reviewers for pretty much every chapter. I can't believe these are still coming but anyway, I guess the pain of Clato lives on. Thank-you to everyone else who is still reading, and especially those reviewing. It lifts my spirits. :)**

**This one is set during tribute training in District 2, a few weeks before the Reaping. **

"Ugh this is boring!" complained Clove, flopping down onto the grass underneath a tree. Cato halted a few paces in front and scowled at her.

"Oh don't be a child Clove."

She rolled her eyes at him and pulled a knife out of her vest and lined it up with a bird a few feet away in the grass. She closed one eye as she focused on the oblivious bird and levelled her blade, swinging it a few times in her fingertips to get the balance right.

"Fine!" grumbled Cato, stomping back towards her and startling the bird. It flew up with a squawk and disappeared out of sight over the tree tops. Clove ran a fingertip along the unused blade and glared at Cato as he thudded down onto the dirt next to her.

"You ruined my game," she said grumpily. Cato gave her a scathing look.

"We're already in a game if you don't remember." He took a water bottle from his backpack and casually unscrewed the lid. As he took a long drink he laid leisurely back in the grass, resting on one elbow.

"Yeah but we won," she said with an evil grin, pulling a piece of cloth from her jacket and waving it in his face. "Capture the flag is stupid anyway. I suppose at least they gave us weapons this time."

Cato yawned like a sulky cat in the sunlight and stretched out. "Well, I guess we could relax here for a while. Let the others run around like pathetic little squirrels hunting for the flag."

"It was too easy anyway," Clove muttered, shoving the flag back into her jacket. Cato mumbled a sleepy reply, ignoring her. "Cato!" she scolded. She was met with silence so she scowled at him grumpily for a few silent moments. Suddenly Cato jerked up as a knife zipped passed his ear and wedged itself into the dirt an inch from the side of his head.

"Jesus Clove!" he burst out, eyeing the blade where it still wobbled in the dirt. He glared at her where she sat with a mischievous grin, her fingers running up the length of a second blade. His body snapped into action and he rushed her with a growl. She could easily have stabbed him, the blade poised in her fingers, but he knew she wouldn't. That would be counterproductive to what she wanted. The blade slid to the side as he tackled her and they both thudded over onto the ground. He had her pinned beneath him in seconds.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with knives?" he growled, his eyes blazing, as he leaned over her.

She laughed. "That's more like it!" she said, grinning at him, seemingly oblivious to his ferocity and the manic glint in his eyes.

"If you do that again I will break both your wrists," he snapped. He gave her a vicious look and her smile faltered. She believed him of course, he had already broken one of her wrists years ago. She couldn't even remember why. Probably for the sheer hell of it.

"It woke you up though, didn't it?" she teased, trying to pull back her arrogant confidence. He growled again, trying to scare her, and shifting slightly, pressing his weight down onto her. "Watch it Cato," she said in a dangerously quiet voice, and he felt the sharp edge of a blade press against his side. Somehow, from somewhere, she had pulled one of her knives, and it was pressed to the little indent between two of his ribs. He felt her slide the blade gently over the fabric of his shirt, running it down the groove between his ribs towards his heart and he almost shivered with the sensation of it.

"Want to kill me do we kitten?" he asked in a low voice, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed, and he felt the blade drop from his side. "No," she said, almost pouting with disappointment. "Not today."

"Lucky me," he said dryly, and pulled back from her. He leaned casually against the tree and watched her struggle into a sitting position. She regarded him coolly.

"Do you ever wonder what it'll be like to actually...die?" she said suddenly, sheathing her knife with a snap. He could tell by the too forced casual tone of her voice that she had been wondering about the question for a while.

He shrugged. "It's not gonna happen for ages so why think about it."

"I could have killed you right here," she pointed out. "I could kill you any time."

"Just as I could kill you, Clove," she said, not looking at her. She scowled at the patronising tone of his voice.

"I'm serious Cato. Either of us, we could die tomorrow, we could die now...we could die in the Arena."

Ah, so that was what she had been thinking about. "Scared of going into the Arena, Clover?" he asked in a laughing voice. Only children were scared of dying the Hunger Games. Clove must trust him to be revealing this now.

"I'm not scared," she snapped. She looked away from him and glared out over the grass. He picked up a stick and began to whittle it into a deadly point with the blade she had previously let drop to the ground. Eventually she looked back at him. "I just wonder what it'll be like to die," she asked in a quiet voice.

He blew the wood dust off the point and looked at it closely before answering her. "I guess it'll just be nothing," he said casually.

"What do you mean, nothing?"

He frowned, thinking about it. "Well. I guess there'll just be nothing there. No pain, no fear." He gave her a grin. "No training."

She smiled hesitantly back at him though he could tell she didn't really find it amusing. "But what about the good things?"

He looked at her. "Don't tell me you're looking for Heaven Clove."

She glanced at the ground, embarrassed. "Only babies believe in that crap," she said defensively. "Besides, father always said I was going straight to Hell anyway. So if either of them were to exist, I know where I'm going."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah because your father is all intelligent," he said rudely.

_That_ actually made her laugh. "I just don't like not knowing. I want to prepare," she said.

"You can't train for everything Clover. Some things, you just gotta wing it," he replied. He turned the stick around in his hands and aimed it at a leaf. With a flick of his wrist he sent it at the ground. It speared straight through the leaf and he smiled with satisfaction. It would make a good spear if it was bigger. He looked up to see her watching him, and he sighed. "If it makes you feel better I'm not planning on killing you any time soon."

"You will in the Arena though, won't you?" she asked, resigned to the fact. He waited a beat, looking at her.

"You might get me?" he said reassuringly. Such a strange conversation.

"You're older, bigger, and higher on the rankings Cato. We both know who's going to win."

"You almost got me with your blade before," he pointed out. He didn't know why he was trying to convince her that she could kill him.

She looked up from her study of the ground and their eyes connected. "Yeah," she whispered sadly. "But I 'missed', didn't I?"


	24. The Capitol

A/N: I apologise for the shortness of this one. But you know, I firmly believe its quality, not quantity that matters. Here's hoping it's even halfway to quality. Remember to review if you like. -Lu

* * *

><p><em>Backstory: Cato and Clone won their Games and became the toys of the Capitol.<em>

It was his first time in the Capitol since their Victory tour. He had played trick after trick to stay away. He knew that the only reason it had been tolerated was because they already had Clove. As he stood on the edge of the fancy room and watched her, his guilt over that fact nearly overwhelmed him. He had escaped, but it was at Clove's expense. If he'd ever known they would do _this_ to her, he would have happily sacrificed himself to these vain and cruel Capitol creatures.

She looked tinier than ever surrounded by them. As he moved into the room, his hands stuffed firmly into the pockets of his suit, he saw her beautiful long dark hair handing down her bare back, edged by the golden dress she wore. It didn't look right on her. She looked too...kind. It took away the hard edge to her, the sharpness to equal her blades that he had loved her for.

He watched the men place their hands on the pale, bare skin of the small of her back and she didn't even flinch. She didn't push them away. To the contrary she let them pull her towards them. She let them paw at her. It made him sick.

He walked up behind the group she stood with.

"Clove," he said in an expressionless voice. The men surrounding her shifted their gaze to him, their eyes bright and manic with alcohol and God knows what else. It took her a few seconds to follow their gaze and turn to look at him. He tried not to react as she looked at him, or rather _through_ him. Her raven black hair still framed her face beautifully, but it now only exaggerated the paleness of her skin, the emptiness of her black eyes. She stumbled over slightly as she looked at him and he reached out an instinctive hand, only to be bet to it by several of her 'friends', who were only too happy to have another excuse to clutch at her. They laughed manically, many of them swaying unsteadily themselves.

"Cato," she said in a hollow voice, like it was an unfamiliar word to her. He stood perfectly still and stared at her. He wanted to scream at them all to take their hands off of her, he wanted to scream at her to wake up and stop looking at him like she didn't recognise him. He wanted to shake her till the empty look vanished from her eyes and she screamed at him back. He wanted her to hit him, to claw at him like she used to. "You're here," she said and the desperate edge to the words made his heart twinge.

The men were growing bored with Cato's presence. He held no interest for them. They turned their backs to him, pulling Clove with them. If she had turned, given him one last look, called his name, he would have gone after her, ripped their hands from her body and taken her away, regardless of what the Capitol would do to him. But she didn't. She bowed her head into their bodies and let them practically carry her from the room. As he watched her leave he felt the flutter of fingers on his shoulder and turned to see a smiling woman leering at him. He didn't hesitate, he smiled back at her. He had penance to pay. He couldn't undo what he had caused but he would do whatever it took now to swap places with Clove. He would send her home and maybe, after they had grown bored with him here, he would go home too, and she would look at him again with fiercely sparkling black eyes and a give him a wicked smile.


	25. Defenceless

The lights of the city bathed the otherwise dark room in a flickering, yellowy glow. She was on the windowsill, staring out the cold glass at the bustling night city below. From their level they could still make out the people moving about on the street below, a rainbow of atrocious colour, but they were small enough to seem so insignificant. Not like they were the people who would be responsible for their deaths. For the deaths of 23 defenceless children. For they were defenceless, even with the strongest sword in his hand and the sharpest blades in hers, Cato and Clove were just as defenceless against the Capitol as any of the others.

One of them was still going to die.

He moved silently up to the windowsill next to her. As he approached he suddenly thought Clove probably wasn't the best person to sneak up on in silence. People who did that usually found a knife protruding from their chest. But then, he figured, there was no way she wouldn't know he was there. She was sharp, her senses the best of any of the Careers. She would have sensed his presence the moment he was there, even if she hadn't heard him.

The indifferent eyes she turned on him when he sat down proved him right. Nothing surprised Clove.

"What are you doing?" he asked. They hadn't spoken a great deal since they had been thrust into this together. Neither of them were particularly wordy people and sometimes words just couldn't cover it anyway.

She turned her eyes back towards the city. "I'm imagining how I would kill every single one of them."

He looked at her for a few moments, his eyes studying her, before he followed her gaze out the window. She wasn't talking about the tributes.

It was then that he wondered if she had a rage inside of her to match his own. A pure, relentless fury at the powerlessness of it all. Everyone thought they were happy to be in the Games. Why would you volunteer otherwise?

Why would I want to die? would be the question he would turn right back at them. Why would he want her to die?

Because by the end of the week, by the end of two, however long it took, at least one of the hearts currently beating in this room would have ceased. Possibly both.

A part of him hoped it would be his. As Clove turned hopeless eyes back to him Cato realised she hoped it would be hers too. If they both wanted to die, perhaps for once the odds would actually be in their favour.

"I remember the first time I saw you," she said softly. It was a tone of voice he had never heard her speak in. "You were so determined to have everyone at school and training terrified of you."

"You weren't," he pointed out bluntly. It was true though. She had never ducked her eyes away from his fierce glare like the others had. He had laughed at the impertinence of this little slip of a thing, until he saw her throw a knife from 20m and hit the target square in the chest. She had been seven. "You were pretty terrifying yourself. No one could touch you-" He stopped speaking and an awkward silence hung between them. At his words her eyes had darkened and she glared back out the window.

"Clove," he said in an attempt to apologise.

"Forget it," she brushed his carelessness off with a sharp shake of her head but anyone could tell he wasn't forgiven. This was why it was better not to speak.

But in the silence that followed he couldn't stop the nasty little memory from slipping into his mind and he knew by the way her hands were clenched on the sill that she was remembering similar things. No, not similar. His couldn't possible compare.

He wondered if she thought about that first day. The day that they had all been training in silence, broken only by the rhythmic thud and clash of blades and punches, when her father had burst into the centre. He remembered the look of horror on her face and how she froze like a captured rabbit.

Anyone could see his drunkenness. Everyone knew of it. It was impossible to keep anything a secret in their district. Nothing secret but nothing spoken. That was the way it worked. You watched for every piece of juicy gossip from your neighbours and friends but no one ever spoke out against anything. Better them than me. He told himself that was why he stood with all the others and watched on uncaringly as he dragged her by the wrist from the room. The girl who had just thrown three 6 inch blades into a mannequin was reduced to a trembling wreck as her father pulled her from the centre with the eyes of everyone burning shame on her back.

She gave no explanation the next morning when she turned up at practice. And no one asked for one. But as they had both reached for a spear he had seen the blackened bruises up her wrist and then he couldn't help but notice how she grimaced every time she crashed to the ground. He had made the mistake of lingering an interested and concerned gaze on her for a few seconds. She had thrown a knife at his head that had missed by inches. He liked to think she had missed on purpose. Maybe not.

The whole thing had been a repeated occurrence.

As he lifted his eyes back to her he wished, not for the first time, that he could read her thoughts. Read them and take them away. She was too young for this. Too young for any of it, not just the Games.

They could be dead tomorrow Might as well risk it. Expecting a violent reaction he shifted his position inches closer to her. She didn't move a muscle so he moved closer again till he was sitting next to her and gingerly he lifted an arm around her shoulders. To his complete shock she suddenly caved in towards him, burying her head in his chest. She didn't cry but he could feel her body shaking with the sobs she was withholding.

He awkwardly wrapped his other arm around her. This wasn't something he had a lot of experience with. The fact that is was Clove was even more startling.

After a while she stopped shaking, but he kept his arms around her. He liked how she fit perfectly. He half expected her to give him a vicious shove now that she had regained control but she didn't. He wondered if she had fallen asleep until he was startled from his thoughts by her voice.

"Will you kill me? I don't want it to be anyone else."

He could have said no. He could have told that District 2 didn't think like that. He could have told her that she was better than he ever could be, that she was probably going to win.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss and closed his eyes. "Yes," he breathed, barely audibly, but he knew she had heard when he felt her body relax slightly.

If it brought her comfort he would say it. He would do it.


	26. You're Not Doing It Right

**A/N: It's been a long time between updates I know. Hopefully this slightly steamier one shot makes up for it. -Lu**

"You're not doing it right."

Clove turned around, furious that someone was interrupting her training, and glared at Cato. "Excuse me?" she asked in an icy voice. He didn't seem to notice her signals, or if he did he chose to ignore them, because he walked lazily up to her.

"I said you're not doing it right. Your stance is off."

Clove laughed incredulously. _He_ was telling _her_ she wasn't throwing her knives right? "Uh huh, sure Cato," she said dismissively, turning back towards her target and lifting her knife again. What nerve did he think he had instructing _her_ on knife throwing? She was the best in the academy. All Cato ever used was his stupid sword.

She almost dropped the knife she was holding when she felt his presence behind her, _right_ behind her, and his fingers landing lightly on her hips. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, trying to spin way from him, but he dug his fingers in and kept her firmly in place. "Cato wha-!"

"Shh be quiet," he ordered, lining his body up behind hers. She could feel his knee, nudge her thigh slightly as he positioned himself and she inhaled a sharp breath. Wildly Clove flicked her eyes around them but they were the only ones left in the training room. His hands splayed out across her hips and she tried not to shiver as his fingers ran across the sensitive skin over her hip bones. What was he doing? "You need to stand like this," he whispered in her ear and she jumped slightly at how close he was. She could feel his breath tickling the side of her neck. He pressed slightly with his left hand and she automatically took a tiny step back with her left leg. She hadn't had much room to go though and now her leg was pressing against his. She tried not to think about it but she could already feel a flush rising to her cheeks. She was just glad he couldn't see her face.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she said, kicking herself for the breathless tremor in her voice. Damn, she could practically sense his smug smile. It was enough to make her pull away from his hands grasped teasingly now on at her waist. Shaking off his lingering fingers she stepped away and turned to face him, hands on her hips and glaring at him furiously. "Why don't you go back to your little toy sword over there Cato," she sneered, indicating his impressive, gleaming weapon where he'd left it propped against a bench. He laughed and threw a casual glance at the sword but didn't seem inclined to move.

"You should listen to my advice little Clover," he teased. She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists at her side in attempt to keep from punching him. The only things stopping her were the fact that fighting outside of training was strictly prohibited and he could probably sweep her aside with a single blow. Still, as she ran her eyes over his taught, muscled body, she thought she could get in a few hits and jabs to sensitive places before he would knock her down. She missed the smug smile and glint in his piercing blue eyes as he watched her eyes running over his body. He crossed his arms, displaying the lean muscles underneath the bronzed skin of his arms. He was an impressive figure and he knew it. "Go on. Try it," he said, nodding towards the target.

Clove glared at him for a few more moments but he simply held her gaze, amusement tugging at his lips. Hissing out a breath between her teeth Clove spun away from him and faced the target. She lined up and went through the routine that was now as familiar as breathing. Lift, exhale, line, inhale, grip, exhale-

Just before she was about to release the blade she felt the jolt of his fingers on her body again. He had moved up behind her silently and was pulling slightly on the fabric of her shorts. "Leg back," he reminded lightly. Sullenly consenting Clove stepped her left leg back slightly, turning her body on a tiny angle to the target. Surely it couldn't hurt to humour him.

Trying to ignore his presence behind her she narrowed her eyes and refocused on the target. Her heart was beating rapidly against her ribs and its pounding was very distracting. Taking a deep breath she flicked her wrist back and flung the knife forward. In an instant it had landed with a satisfying thock into the very centre of the target. She had known before it landed it would find the centre and Clove lowered her arm, trying to hide her amazement. He had been right. It was more than the aim of the knife. Shifting her body slightly had given her even more control. She had felt it in the energy that coursed down her arm and into the blade, as if it was an extension of her own body, and she had known the second she released it that this was the most powerful throw she had even given.

A low, throaty chuckle behind her drew Clove from her wonder and she remembered with a sinking feeling that Cato's smugness would now be intolerable. She turned to face him and was surprised at how close he was- her shoulder brushed against his chest as she turned. She looked up at him with suspicious eyes. "How did you know that?" she demanded. She was angry with herself that Cato, of all people, had been able to outsmart her with knives. She hated being shown up and if there had been anyone else in the room she would have slashed him where he stood for embarrassing her in front of them. As it was she reigned in her anger, which allowed her curiosity to rise to the surface- curiosity and a prickling awareness of how close he was. It unnerved her.

Cato uncrossed his arms and slowly lowered them. Clove wondered if he deliberately brushed his hands against her stomach as he dropped his hands to his side. She didn't respond but determinedly kept her eyes on his. He shrugged casually and his eyes flicked sideways for a second before finding their way to hers. "You know who Rael is, of course?"

Clove rolled her eyes. "Best Victor with knives the District has ever seen. 38th Games. Head Trainer at Six West. Yes, duh." She listed off the credentials like she'd rote learnt them- which she had.

Cato's eyes flashed as her insolent tone but he nodded once. "My mother."

Unable to hide her surprise Clove's eyes widened. How had she never known that? When she was young she'd practically worshipped Rael, until she'd disappeared to the Capitol several years ago. "Your-?"

"Mother, yes," Cato continued sharply, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. Suddenly he looked defensive, tensed for something. What did he expect from her? Criticism, judgement, anger, pity? He was clearly expecting something. Clove's eyes flicked back and forth, studying his expression intently. She didn't want to fulfil whatever expectation he had of her- probably her pure defiant spite rising to the surface. So she turned away from him and looked back at the target. With nimble fingers she slipped another blade from her belt and lifted it to eye level. "

"Show me again?" she asked simply, studying the target intently but highly aware of his breathing behind her. She heard it hitch, as if in surprise, and then felt the prickle of her skin as he stepped closer, his body fitting against hers. A rush of heat spread through her body at the teasing press of his skin. Her own breath hitched as she felt light fingers land on her shoulders. Shivers wriggled their way down her limbs, causing the hand holding her knife to grip it tighter almost involuntarily, as his fingers brushed against her neck. It could almost have been an accident, the way they stroked along the line of her collarbone, brushing a loose strand of hair aside as they went. They stilled on the tips of her shoulders and gently placed pressure, drawing her back towards him.

Neither of them said a word this time as she let his touch guide her body closer towards him.


	27. Scars

**A/N: This can be a continuation of the previous shot for those who asked for another part. So yes that is correct my little darlings we are once again delving into smut. Set the night before they enter the Arena. Enjoy yourselves. -Lu**

"What do you think the tributes get up to every year?" he whispers in her ear. A shiver runs down her spine. Their bodies are inches apart. She can feel heat radiating from his skin. "Twenty four teenagers about to die?" he continues in a seductive whisper. "They certainly don't spend their last hours praying."

She hates the patronising tone in his voice. He still thinks of her as a naive, innocent little girl, another one of the silly little things he could charm in the training centre. Well she certainly isn't that. She closes the tiny space between them, reaching up to run a fingertip down the exposed skin of his throat and collarbone. When her finger snags on fabric she smiles at him and slides the first button of his shirt open. He's watching her with an amused smile, but she can feel his heart pounding underneath her hand and she knows his cool demeanour is just a facade. She would love to know what really goes on behind those piercing blue eyes.

As her fingers descend lower, leaving a trail of exposed skin in their wake, she notices the silvery lines that pattern his skin.

"You have scars," she murmurs, running a fingertip along a raised line about 4 inches long that follows one of his ribs. She feels him shudder slightly under her touch and it makes her smile at him coyly. _See what I can do to you?_

"We all have scars," he replies and she feels his hand running down her shoulder, pulling the edges of her dress down with it. Knowing his eyes are roving hungrily over her bare skin makes her pause and she withdraws her hand from his torso. "Let's see if I can find yours," he continues, oblivious to her hesitation as he runs chillingly light fingertips down her arm. Her breath hitches as his fingertips find an old line in the crook of her elbow. Tantalisingly slow he lifts her arm and brushes his lips over the scar. "How did you get this one?" he asks her, eyes flashing.

It takes her a few moments to find the words, she's staring at his lips on her skin. "My brother used me for target practice," she manages eventually, her tongue tripping over the simple words. He smiles like the idea amuses him and she remembers where she is, who she is with. They are going to kill each other. And she isn't one of his silly little things.

She stands up straight and pulls her arm back from his grip. He lets her skin slip through his fingers and his eyes how surprise at her change in behaviour. The surprise changes to amusement as she gives him a shove in the chest which pushes him up against the wall. She raises herself on her tiptoes till their lips are only inches apart and with one hand trails a line down his bare chest. Her fingertips rip over the jagged lines of his scars, settling on one by touch alone.

She digs her nails into the hard flesh of his chest and feels his body tense underneath her touch. It's just like wielding a knife; the pleasure comes from control, control and response. Love and torture are not so different. In both you have the power to make another's body dance and sing with only your hands. "How did _you_ get _this_ one?" she breathes.

"A sword fight in training," he answers, his eyes locked on hers. Suddenly he leans in so his lips are next to her ear. "I won," he whispers, stirring her hair with his breath.

Her hands are both pressed flat against his abs as he pulls his head away, looking at her again with an arrogant smile. He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I drove my sword through his body, just like I'm going to do to you darling."

An exquisite shiver runs the full length of her body. She knows she should heed his words and the malice behind them but all logic seems to have flown from her mind.

She leans in and softly kisses a jagged, silver line over his collarbone. She scrapes her teeth lightly along his skin and his fingers tighten in her hair. "Maybe I'll add to these," she whispers and hears him chuckle low in his throat. Lightly she draws patterns between the silver webs on his chest. "I'll make you into a work of art for the Capitol to admire."

"Oh they'll be admiring me sweetheart, but not for your work," he teases. With one swift shrug of his shoulders he lets his shirt slip to the ground. Her eyes run appreciatively over the contours of his body and he watches her admiration with a deep satisfaction.

"Your turn," he murmurs in her ear and with a start she feels his fingers slipping under the hem of her skirt, sliding their way up her body and leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. In one fluid movement he pulls the dress over her head and discards it on the floor. Now she can feel his eyes on her and her skin prickles as if his gaze was able to reach out and stroke her skin. It feels strange to let him gaze at her like this, only the painfully thin fabric of her underwear between them, but she doesn't dislike it. The hungry, burning look in his eye evokes a shiver of pleasure from her body and almost instinctively her hand reaches out to touch him. He grasps her tiny wrist tight with his fingers, then pulls her other one into his grip too. Her fingers have balled into fists but she doesn't notice as he holds her arms between them. Slowly he pushes her backwards. She takes one hesitant step, then another as he mirrors it, until she feels the cut of the bed against her calves and suddenly she has toppled backwards onto the bed and he is there, above her, everywhere.

She feels intoxicatingly trapped between the bed and his body as he leans down over her. His hands, pressed into the sheets either side of her head, feel like a cage. As he slides his lips delicately over her neck her head tips back instinctively, inviting him to drink her in. She can feel his breath, hot between his burning kisses, as he trails a fiery line from the dip in her collarbone to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. He chuckles as he spies another scar, this one running in a smooth, unbroken sweep down the side of her neck. He traces the line with the tip of his tongue and bites softly on the skin at the base of her throat. She feels his lips form a smile against her skin as her hand flies to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the moan building in her throat.

"And this one?" he murmurs, his voice thick as honey. He continues to trail a line of kisses down her body and her reply dissolves into a gasp. "Tell me," he warns in a dangerous voice.

In an act of defiance she tangles her fingers into his golden hair and guides his mouth back towards hers. Their lips press together and she can taste the momentary surprise on his tongue as she kisses him furiously. She breaks away but neither of them move. "Laena wanted to fight me for tribute," she breathes to him. "She cut me here." She places two fingertips to her own throat. "So I cut her here." She brushes them down his bare chest, from the pounding pulse in his throat, lower, all the way till her fingers brush against the guarding fabric of his trousers. To her absolute delight she feels his entire body tense and his eyes flash dangerously. This control is intoxicating.


	28. Hate

**A/N: Here is a song based one shot. I wrote it as a break from the Enobaria/Clove multichapter I am currently working on called 'Blood, Snow, and Steel'. I'd love if you could check it out and review, I've been pouring my heart and soul into it these last few weeks. But moving on, enjoy the Clato. -Lu **

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><p><strong>So cold- Ben Cocks<strong>

_"You still owe me a reason,_

_'Cause I can't figure out why._

_Why I'm alone freezing, _

_While you're in the bed that she's in,_

_And I'm just left alone to cry."_

* * *

><p>He had been distant the entire journey to the Capitol. She glanced across the dining table at him but he looked away, pretending to focus intently on what Brutus was saying. She frowned down at her plate, her fingers wrapping so tightly around the handle of her butterknife that her knuckles turned white. Her fingers twitched, longing to plunge it into someone's flesh and let their screams sooth her frustration. But the only options here were their mentors, the Capitol idiots, and Cato. Her mentor would probably kill her before she could so much as lift the knife from the table. The Capitol people would be easy to kill but not worth the retribution they'd take out on her family. Cato...she'd never have been able to kill him. But as he determinedly ignored her she found herself rethinking that conviction. He had given no explanation for his behaviour and when she shoved him up against a wall and demanded to know what the hell he was playing at he had only looked over her head as if she was no more than one of the other pathetic tributes.<p>

In shock she had released him and let him push her away as he stormed off down the corridor to his room. The District 2 suite of the Capitol Building was small enough for her to feel the walls shake as he slammed his door.

She flung herself into her own room and slammed the door with equal ferocity. They always fought, but this was different. Fighting for them meant fingers raking across skin and teeth sinking into flesh in a chaos that was as much passionate as it was furious. Fighting meant him slamming her into a wall, feeling his breathless body flush against hers, and the cruel delight of his shiver as she pressed a blade to his ribs in warning.

This was Cato pretending like she didn't exist and it tore through her more painfully than any kick or bite could ever.

She'd watched in resentful silence in training as he leant into the blonde girl from District 1 and touched her shoulder. She'd seen him flirt with other girls before, it was what he did, but this was their last days before the Arena. The selfish child in her screamed for all his attention because they only had days left. Instead she had to watch with her arms folded over her chest to hold herself together, and pretend like it didn't matter to her as he caressed the girl called Glimmer in front of the entire training centre.

He wanted to pretend as if they were nothing well two could play at that game. She didn't speak to him at all that night. It would have been more satisfying if he had appeared to notice at all. Instead she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling as she listened to his footsteps pad down the corridor. Her heart jumped in the moment she thought he was going to pause outside her door, that she was going to hear the familiar tap of his knuckles against the wood insisting that she let him in.

They didn't pause. She listened to his footsteps fade and then so faintly she had to strain to hear it there was a light, girlish giggle. The deep murmur of his voice replied and then the front door to the suite clicked shut and she knew that he had left. With her.

She rolled over in her bed and blinked away the burning tears that threatened to fall. She fixed on a crack marring the perfect grey wall of the bedroom and focused with all her might on the imperfection until the blurriness and lump in her throat was replaced with burning anger. She lay there and imagined a thousand horrible deaths for the girl with tumbling blonde curls and pale blue eyes. She could never compare to such beauty. Clove would always be as dark and twisted as girls like Glimmer were light and lovely. She'd thought Cato had loved the ferocity with which she fought, the light that gleamed in her eyes when the cold silver of her blade was pressed to burning skin. In the darkness after they had ripped each other to shreds he would whispers in her ear how he loved every inch of her blackened soul and she had known he meant every word because his was just as dark.

It seemed the imminent death of one of them changed that for him. She lay awake all night, letting her mind escape with fantasies of blood and pain and the blonde girl writhing in agony beneath her. Anything so that she wouldn't have to think about how he was with _her_ while she lay there alone in the cold bed.

It was dawn before she heard the steady sound of his footsteps returning. She didn't move as she heard him approach. He had wanted to spend his last night before the Arena in the arms of the girl from District One then she told herself it didn't matter to her. He was going to die anyway, it was probably easier this way. She told herself so sternly and yet still a choking sob escaped her as he passed her door. The sound of her pain only escaped for one brief moment but she heard his footsteps stop. It had been enough. He'd heard her and was no doubt rolling his eyes at her weakness. She buried her face into the pillow to prevent a scream of pure frustration and desperation from ripping itself from her throat.

Then she heard it. The gentle rap on the door. She held her breath, not daring to believe that it was anything more than a figment of her imagination. It didn't come again but in the silence that followed she heard the gentlest swish of carpet and spun around, rising to her knees ready to fight, always ready to fight, and meeting his blue eyes where he stood in the doorway.

Her breath caught in her throat at the look on his face. She'd never seen such an expression of twisted pain on his features before and as he stepped towards he she flinched backwards. This person who was looking at her with eyes too bright and an expression too desolate was not the bloodthirsty, brutal, vicious boy she had reluctantly admitted to falling in love with.

"I'm sorry," the words escaped him like a breath and he collapsed towards her, falling onto his knees on the bed. His fingers dug into her skin and caught in her hair as he pulled her towards him. She was too shocked and horrified to even defend herself as she found herself pressed to the familiar contours of his body. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, digging her fingers just as viciously into his back as she claimed him as her own. She could feel his breath, a stream of words, ruffling her hair as he buried his face in her neck. "I'm sorry, I thought I could do it. I thought I could convince myself that I didn't care. It would have been so much easier. I'm sorry, I couldn't do it."

She let her breath out shakily across the smooth, tanned skin of his shoulders, and tried to understand the string of apologies that sounded so unnatural coming from him. She pressed her forehead to the strong, unbreakable bone of his breast and felt his heart beat, just as strong and unbreakable. "I hate you," she hissed against his skin and felt him nod.

"I know."

She pulled back, gripping his face viciously in her hands, running her fingers over the bristle of his cheeks, and examining the depths of his blue eyes. Inhaling sharply she pressed herself forwards till her lips met his, kissing him with all the ferocity she had come to associate with him. Breaking apart she let her lips hover over his and felt his fingers raking along her back in beautiful pain. His skin was burning against hers and his breath was sweet against her lips as he tilted towards her, desperately trying to close the inch between them. For a brief second she held her ground, looking into his eyes. "I hate you and I love you," she breathed in a rush into his mouth as she let herself be consumed by his fierce kisses again.


	29. Always in my Head

**A/N: Another little break from my Enobaria Story. This one got to me a little by the end I must say. I don't know why I do this to myself. Anyway, enough rambling from me. Remember, review if you like, review if you don't! -Lu**

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><p><strong>When'd you find me?- Arrange<strong>

_God damn these thoughts_

_God damn these thoughts_

_God damn the people that remind me of you_

* * *

><p>The Arena suddenly feels a lot bigger than it did moments ago.<p>

All of a sudden he is alone in here, alone in a space inhabited by four other teenagers and with the Capitol's presence in every leaf and every blade of grass. So completely alone that it makes his chest ache even when he has left her body behind him in the clearing and even when he has slashed his way through the boy from Eleven.

Fighting has always made him feel better but for the first time he sinks his sword into a body and it doesn't do anything to ease the emptiness inside him. He looks down at the body, watches the blood seep into the ground, and can only think about how he had looked down at her and watched her slowly bleed to death too. Helpless.

He can't get it out of his head. He slashes his way furiously through the field, and the woods, and the now empty flowered grass of the central clearing, but no matter how many trunks he slams his blade into or how many flowers he decapitates she won't get out of his head.

As darkness sets in around him for the first time he finds himself making camp alone. He never noticed how much safer he felt simply knowing she was there. Now, even with a sword in his hand and his every sense alert to movement around him, he feels painfully vulnerable. She always had the better instincts and alertness and now he finds himself second guessing everything he does.

In the simple act of dying she has single-handedly shattered his confidence.

"_That is just pathetic." _

He stares up at the blackened sky and swears silently at her. She swears back. She's always been a fun person to fight with. She never backed down or tried to seduce him like the other girls did. She gave as good as she got and in his head she is hurling abuse at him for his weakness.

"I know I know," he murmurs to no one but the forest and the watching Capitol who won't be able to hear her. He kind of likes that they couldn't invade on this conversation. They've taken everything already, they hadn't even let him have those last few moments alone with her, but whatever their power they can't hear the things they said to each other now.

He sits up, unable to sleep, and begins to wander aimlessly through the trees, his sword hanging by his side. He would never have done something so reckless if she were still alive. She would have given him that look of complete and utter contempt and told him to grow a brain. It is hard to see in the moonless shadows of the tall trees and twice he stumbles clumsily over a tree root. She rolls her eyes at him.

"_You always were an oaf."_

"Shut up. Who was it who managed to fall down a cliff last year?"

"_You pushed me!"_

"Only a little."

They lapse back into silence till he finds himself on the edge of the clearing again. He hadn't meant to come back here but somehow he just keeps getting tugged back to the heart of it all. He crouches among the scrubby bushes on the edge of the grass and watches the moonlight make patterns across the open space. A cold wind ripples the surface of the lake and sends a shiver through the trees around him. Something is brewing.

"_Here comes my moment in the spotlight."_

"Shut up. You're in no position to be making jokes."

"_Neither are you." _

Just as she has predicted the Capitol anthem begins to play and he lookes automatically up at the sky. Without realising it this was why he had wandered towards the clearing. He had wanted to see their faces...her face.

She is the first to appear obviously. It looks so much like her, the pale blue, flickering image reflected against the blackened sky.

"_It's not my best."_

They seem to hold her image there for an impossible amount of time. Perhaps it is because there are only two tributes to show tonight and they want to stretch the entertaining moment out longer. He has no doubt that there were several cameras closely trained on him now, and he keeps his face determinedly expressionless. It is only inside that he is screaming.

"Why do they have to remind me?"

"_Because it's fun!"_

"How is this fun? You won't leave me alone."

He feels a small whisper of air against his neck that is too warm to be the cool wind whipping around him. He closes his eyes for a second and can almost imagine that it is her, laughing silently against his skin as she wraps her arms around his body.

"_I'm never going to leave you alone, Cato."_

He doesn't reply, unsure whether to be happy or not about that. On one hand he had never wanted her to leave in the first place. He'd never wanted to let her go. But he can already feel his grip on sanity slipping with every comment they share.

"You're going to send me crazy."

"_You already are crazy. Why else were we friends?"_

"Friends?"

She doesn't reply and he knows she is biting her lip, anxious at what she said. They were definitely not friends. They fought too much and fucked too hard to call themselves friends.

Eventually her image fades from the sky and he allows himself to lower his gaze. While it had been there he could almost believe he was actually having a conversation with her. In the photo they'd used she wasn't smiling- she never smiled- but there was that look in her eye that he knew meant she was plotting in her head. She'd probably been imagining a dozen deaths for whoever was taking the photo.

"_I thought I could choke him with the film. Or drown him in developing fluid. Or-"_

"How do you know anything about developing fluid?"

She gives an indignant noise at being interrupted and he pictures her crossing her arms sulkily across her chest and looking away from him. _"I have ears, I hear things. Unlike you..."_

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"_It means look around you, idiot."_

Startled from his silent argument with her he looks up and realises that the small spark of moonlight had disappeared. The Arena has been plunged into an unnatural darkness that makes his skin crawl with foreboding. Then he hears the noise which Clove had been referring to. An eerie howl rings across the trees and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. That is not a tribute.

"_Here doggy, doggy..."_

"Not now, Clove!"

"_Fine! But if you don't want to play with it then you should probably run."_

He doesn't wait for the noise that comes a second later, the crashing through the trees that tells him the mutations are upon him. He takes Clove's advice and is sprinting across the grass a moment before they burst from the trees right onto the spot he had been crouching.

"_Told you."_

He ignores her smug comment as he concentrates on sprinting across the open, exposed grass towards the only shelter he can see, the Cornucopia. He has no desire to be back there but there isn't anywhere else to go. No matter how hard he tries he can't stop his eyes from flickering to the place where she had died, even as he throws himself at the side of the golden horn and begins to scramble up it.

On the top he collapses to the surface, breathing hard from the panicked run and the fear of the terrifying mutations. He peers over the edge and sees them, enormous and slavering and throwing themselves at the side.

"_Wish we'd had one of those as a pet."_

"Yeah, well you would have been walking it."

He doesn't hear her no doubt smart ass reply as a shout and scrabbling noise from the other side of the horn catch his attention. He spins around and sees two bedraggled figures hauling themselves out of reach of the mutts. His bloodlust kicks in and he throws himself at them, pulling one to the ground and slamming his fist into the other before he even recognises the two tributes from District 12.

"_Oh look the star crossed lovers."_ Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and bitterness and he knows she is just itching to sink a knife into one of them. She'd really wanted to kill Fire Girl, for some reason she'd hated her even more than any of the others.

"Don't worry, I'll kill her nice and slow for you."

"_Thanks, Cato."_

Blood is pouring down his forehead from a cut he hadn't even realised he had but he barely notices it as he throws himself at the girl. His hands latch around her throat and then there are strong arms pulling him back and dragging him to the ground. His fists fly out at the body wrestling with his and he lands several satisfying thuds to Peeta's body before he feels one sharp knock to his jaw that sends him reeling backwards.

Everything rushes into a blur of limbs and strangled cries and in the darkness he can barely tell whose body is whose. It didn't matter. He wants them both dead. His instinctive training takes over and his mind barely even considers the moves he makes. Clove's angry cried egg him on as he finally gets a grip around the boy, hauling him to his feet just as he sees the girl raise her bow at them. He pulls Peeta in front of him, using him as a shield against her arrows. There is blood streaming from everywhere, not just his own body, and he doesn't even know what hurts any more. He can hear Clove hissing quietly in his head, no doubt her anger directed towards the Fire Girl. It must be killing her all over again to not be able to launch a dozen knives into her undefended body.

"Shoot me and he goes down with me!" He speaks aloud for the first time in who knows how long and his voice suddenly sounds strange in his own ears. He's been talking only to _her_ for ages now. Clove is strangely quiet as Katniss steadies her bow on the pair of them and he wonders what she is thinking. She was always so good at strategy, and with his head feeling like syrup at the moment he wishes even more that she was here and could be looking at this scene now with her quick, analysing eyes. She'd know what to do.

"Clove?"

She doesn't reply and he's too busy searching for her to realise that against his arm Peeta is moving ever so slightly. He realises too late what the bloody cross on the back of his hand means, and it seems Clove realises at exactly the same moment.

"_CATO!"_

He reacts instantly, trying to push Peeta away from him and dive to the side but the arrow is faster and it sears through his hand, pushing him backwards. The slippery surface of the Cornucopia beneath him disappears and then he is plummeting towards the ground.

He's barely even been able to register that he's fallen before the mutts are upon him, tearing at his skin with their razor sharp teeth. Ungodly screams are filling his head but he doesn't even realise they're his.

"_Just let go. It's not so bad. I promise."_

"I'm scared."

She doesn't scold him for his weakness, not like she would have once, and it's because of that that he knows this is really the end.

The agony fades into the background and for the first time he can see her clearly in front of him. She's got a pained look on her face and he wonders if it's because of him.

"_Let go,"_ she urges again and he tries to do as she says but he is still stuck in his body as it is being ripped apart. He looks to her, desperate for it all to just be over.

"This is the sort of drama I expected you to go out with."

_"Me? Drama? You're the one who prances for the cameras."_

"I do not prance."

Light laughter fills his head and he knows it is directed at him. He doesn't mind her teasing him though. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as the teeth in his flesh. He tries to focus on her voice again, to send the pain away.

"Why are you still here? I thought you'd be off driving the devil insane by now."

"_We always were better as a team."_

"It's true. You're nothing without me."

She doesn't contradict him and that rips through him. Perhaps now she really is nothing without him. And very soon they'll both be gone.

"_Don't be so pessimistic."_

"Oh I'm sorry, I don't see you being torn apart my wolves."

"_They're dogs...and would you just hurry up and die already. This is getting tiresome." _

"You're welcome to leave if you're so bored."

She is quiet for a moment and he is worried she really has left. Without her voice the pain begins to seep back in. But then she's back, filling his mind more than ever, and somehow he just knows she is smiling.

"_I told you. I'm never leaving you alone. Together forever you and I." _


End file.
